Now the frog, all lean and weak, Yawning from his famished sleep, Water in the ditch doth seek, Fast as he can stretch and leap: Marshy king-cups burning near

No state is enviable. To the luck… Of some few favoured men I would… I bleed, but her who wounds I wil… Have I not felt her heart as ’twe… Beat thro’ me? could I hurt her?…

With Alfred and St. Louis he dot… Grander than crowned head’s mortua… His gentle heroic manhood enters i… The ever-flowering common heart fo…

Bury thy sorrows, and they shall r… As souls to the immortal skies, And there look down like mothers’… But let thy joys be fresh as flowe… That suck the honey of the showers…

I am not of those miserable males Who sniff at vice and, daring not… Do therefore hope for heaven. I t… Of all my deeds. The wind that fi… Propels; but I am helmsman. Am I…

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,

Like to some deep-chested organ wh… Serenely majestic in utterance, lo… Interprets to mortals with melody… The mystical harmonies chiming for… spheres.

His Lady queen of woods to meet, He wanders day and night: The leaves have whisperings discre… The mossy ways invite. Across a lustrous ring of space,

With love exceeding a simple love… That glide in grasses and rubble o… Or change their perch on a beat of… From branch to branch, only restfu… Or, bristled, curl at a touch thei…

Joy is fleet, Sorrow slow. Love, so sweet, Sorrow will sow. Love, that has flown

Though I am faithful to my loves… And place them among Memory’s gre… Where burns a face like Hesper: o… Of visages I get a moment’s view, Sweet eyes that in the heaven of m…

There she goes up the street with… And her Good morning, Martin! Ay… Very well, thank you, Martin!-I c… I might just as well never have co… I can’t understand it. She talks…

Our Islet out of Helgoland, dismi… From his quaint tenement, quits ha… There lived with us a wagging humo… In that hound’s arch dwarf-legged…

I think she sleeps: it must be sle… Hangs that abandoned arm toward th… The face turned with it. Now make… Sleep on: it is your husband, not… The Poet’s black stage-lion of wr…