For a Heracles in his fighting ir… follows When ashen he lies and the poets a… done. But to vision alive under shallows…

unset worn to its last vermilion h… She that star overhead in slow des… That white star with the front of… He undone in his rays of glory spe… Halo, fair as the bow-shot at his…

Thou our beloved and light of Ear… The sea of darkness to the yonder… There dost thou shine a light tran… Through love to kindle in our soul…

When we have thrown off this old s… So much in need of mending, To sink among the naked mute, Is that, think you, our ending? We follow many, more we lead,

From twig to twig the spider weave… At noon his webbing fine. So near to mute the zephyrs flute That only leaflets dance. The sun draws out of hazel leaves

A wicked man is bad enough on eart… But O the baleful lustre of a chi… Once pledged in tyranny! O star o… Darkly illumining a nation’s grief… How many men have worn thee on the…

Not solely that the Future she de… And the fair life which in the dis… For all men, beckoning out from di… Nor that the passing hour’s suppor… Have lost the keen-edged flavour,…

When I would image her features, Comes up a shrouded head: I touch the outlines, shrinking; She seems of the wandering dead. But when love asks for nothing,

With Life and Death I walked whe… And made them on each side a shado… Through wooded vales the land of d… Where down smooth rapids whirls th… To fall on daylight; and night put…

Not vainly doth the earnest voice… Call for the thing that is his pur… Fame is the birthright of the livi… To noble impulse Nature puts no b… Nor vainly to the Sphinx thy voic…

Assured of worthiness we do not dr… Competitors; we rather give them h… And greeting in the lists where we… Must, if we bear an aim beyond the… My betters are my masters: purely…

Two wedded lovers watched the risi… That with her strange mysterious b… Over misty hills and waters flowin… Crowned the long twilight loveline… And thus in me, and thus in me, th…

What splendour of imperial station… The Tree of Life, may reach when,… His branching stem points way to u… And skyward still aspires, we see… Who sang for us the Archangelical…

A Princess in the eastern tale Paced thro’ a marble city pale, And saw in ghastly shapes of stone The sculptured life she breathed a… Saw, where’er her eye might range,