Ye storm-winds of Autumn Who rush by, who shake The window, and ruffle The gleam-lighted lake; Who cross to the hill-side

Far, far from here, The Adriatic breaks in a warm bay Among the green Illyrian hills; a… The sunshine in the happy glens is… And by the sea, and in the brakes.

That son of Italy who tried to bl… Ere Dante came, the trump of sacr… In his light youth amid a festal t… Sate with his bride to see a publi… Fair was the bride, and on her fro…

“Miserere, Domine! The words are utter’d, and they flee. Deep is their penitential moan, Mighty their pathos, but ’tis gone. They have declared the spirit’s sore Sore load, and words ca...

Light flows our war of mocking wor… Behold, with tears mine eyes are w… I feel a nameless sadness o’er me… Yes, yes, we know that we can jest… We know, we know that we can smile…

How changed is here each spot man… In the two Hinkseys nothing keeps… The village street its haunted man… And from the sign is gone Sibylla… And from the roofs the twisted chi…

GOD knows it, I am with you. If… Those virtues, priz’d and practis’… But priz’d, but lov’d, but eminent… Man’s fundamental life: if to desp… The barren optimistic sophistries

God knows it, I am with you. If t… Those virtues, priz’d and practis’… But priz’d, but lov’d, but eminent… Man’s fundamental life: if to desp… The barren optimistic sophistries

Long fed on boundless hopes, O ra… How angrily thou spurn’st all simp… “Christ,” some one says, “was huma… No judge eyes us from Heaven, our… We live no more, when we have done…

Crouch’d on the pavement close by… A tramp I saw, ill, moody, and to… A babe was in her arms, and at her… A girl; their clothes were rags, t… Some labouring men, whose work lay…

'Tis death! and peace, indeed, is… And ease from shame, and rest from… There’s nothing can dismarble now The smoothness of that limpid brow… But is a calm like this, in truth,

Goethe in Weimar sleeps, and Gree… Long since, saw Byron’s struggle… But one such death remain’d to com… The last poetic voice is dumb— We stand to-day by Wordsworth’s t…

A region desolate and wild, Black, chafing water: and afloat, And lonely as a truant child In a waste wood, a single boat: No mast, no sails are set thereon;

We cannot kindle when we will The fire which in the heart reside… The spirit bloweth and is still, In mystery our soul abides. But tasks in hours of insight will…

We, O Nature, depart, Thou survivest us! this, This, I know, is the law. Yes! but more than this, Thou who seest us die