When the summer harvest was gather… And the sheaf of the gleaner grew… And the ploughshare was in its fur… Where the stubble land had been la… An Indian hunter, with unstrung b…

There is a quiet spirit in these w… That dwells where’er the gentle so… Where, underneath the white-thorn,… The wild flowers bloom, or, kissin… The leaves above their sunny palms…

Becalmed upon the sea of Thought, Still unattained the land it sough… My mind, with loosely-hanging sail… Lies waiting the auspicious gales. On either side, behind, before,

I like that ancient Saxon phrase,… The burial-ground God’s-Acre! It… It consecrates each grave within i… And breathes a benison o’er the sl… God’s-Acre! Yes, that blessed nam…

THE WORKSHOP OF HEPHAES… HEPHAESTUS (standing before t… Not fashioned out of gold, like H… Nor forged of iron like the thunde… Of Zeus omnipotent, or other work…

Short of stature, large of limb, Burly face and russet beard, All the women stared at him, When in Iceland he appeared. “Look!” they said,

BENT like a laboring oar, that t… Bent, but not broken, by age was t… Shocks of yellow hair, like the si… Over his shoulders; his forehead w… Sat astride on his nose, with a lo…

Have I dreamed? or was it real, What I saw as in a vision, When to marches hymeneal In the land of the Ideal Moved my thought o’er Fields Elys…

Mounted on Kyrat strong and fleet… His chestnut steed with four white… Roushan Beg, called Kurroglou, Son of the road and bandit chief, Seeking refuge and relief,

What say the Bells of San Blas To the ships that southward pass From the harbor of Mazatlan? To them it is nothing more Than the sound of surf on the shor…

Thus closed the tale of guilt and… That cast upon each listener’s fac… Its shadow, and for some brief spa… Unbroken silence filled the room. The Jew was thoughtful and distre…

At Atri in Abruzzo, a small town Of ancient Roman date, but scant… One of those little places that ha… Half up the hill, beneath a blazin… And then sat down to rest, as if t…

Bell! thou soundest merrily, When the bridal party To the church doth hie! Bell! thou soundest solemnly. When, on Sabbath morning,

Is it so far from thee Thou canst no longer see, In the Chamber over the Gate, That old man desolate, Weeping and wailing sore

I saw, as in a dream sublime, The balance in the hand of Time. O’er East and West its beam impen… And day, with all its hours of lig… Was slowly sinking out of sight,