Hawk or shrike has done this deed Of downy feathers: rueful sight! Sweet sentimentalist, invite Your bosom’s Power to intercede. So hard it seems that one must ble…

Rub thou thy battered lamp: nor cl… Honours from aught about thee. Li… Thy frame is as a dusty mantle hun… O grey one! pendant on a loosened… Thou art for this our life an anci…

Their sense is with their senses a… Destroyed by subleties these women… More brain, O Lord, more brain! o… Utterly this fair garden we might… Behold! I looked for peace, and t…

(The Death Of Robert Browning) Now dumb is he who waked the world… And voiceless hangs the world besi… Our words are sobs, our cry of pra… We are the smitten mortal, we the…

Cannon his name, Cannon his voice, he came. Who heard of him heard shaken hill… An earth at quake, to quiet stampe… Who looked on him beheld the will…

What soul would bargain for a cure… Contempt the nobler agony to kill? Rather let me bear on the bitter i… And strike this rusty bosom with n… It seems there is another veering…

Long with us, now she leaves us; s… Beneath our sacred sod: A woman vowed to Good, whom all a… The daylight gift of God.

[Iliad, V. V. 385—Dedicated to t… How big of breast our Mother Gaea… At sight of her boy Giants on the… Each over other as they neighboure… Fronting the day’s descent across…

Where faces are hueless, where eye… Where passion is silent and hearts… Where thought hath no theme, and w… In patience and peace thou art gon… Gone where no warning can wake the…

[From the Mireio of Mistral] A hundred mares, all white! their… Like mace-reed of the marshy plain… Thick-tufted, wavy, free o’ the sh… And when the fiery squadron rears

Oracle of the market! thence you d… The taste which stamped you guide… A North-sea pilot, Hildebrand ycl… A sturdy and a briny, once men kne… He loved small beer, and for that…

O nightingale! how hast thou learn… The note of the nested dove? While under thy bower the fern han… And no cloud hovers above! Rich July has many a sky

He leads: we hear our Seaman’s ca… In the roll of battles won; For he is Britain’s Admiral Till setting of her sun. When Britain’s life was in her sh…

Night, like a dying mother, Eyes her young offspring, Day. The birds are dreamily piping. And O, my love, my darling! The night is life ebb’d away: