Emerging from deep sleep my eyes u… To a pursuing strangeness. O to b… Where but a moment past I was, th… The place, the time I know not, o… Far from this banished and so shru…

Swift and straight as homing dove, Heedless, so its flight be flown, All the full stream of thy love, Love that knows no mortal bounding… Pours, is emptied for its own,

When life begins anew, And Youth, from gathering flowers… From vague delights, rapt musings,… Turns restless, seeking some great… To sum his fostered dreams; when t…

Like the bloom on a grape is the e… And a first faint frost the wind h… Yet the fear of his breath avails… The withered leaves on the cold gr… For they huddle and whisper in pha…

Angered Reason walked with me A street so squat, unshapen, bald, So blear—windowed and grimy—walled… So dismal—doored, it seemed to be The abortion of a mind that had

There are five men in the moonligh… That by their shadows stand; Three hobble humped on crutches, And two lack each a hand. Frogs somewhere near the roadside

Away, sad thoughts, and teasing Perplexities, away! Let other blood go freezing, We will be wise and gay. For here is all heart-easing,

O strange, O sweetly warm Falls the sunshine on my cheek. I taste the cordial North; In the pines I hear him speak. A new, a tender charm

A woman sat, with roses red Upon her lap before her spread, On that high bridge whose parapet Wide over turbulent Thames is set… Between the dome’s far glittering…

As a swallow that sits on the roof… I gaze on the world aloof; In the silence, when men lie sleep… I hear the noise of weeping: The tears, by Day derided,

When I am only I, The secret battle—ground Of world and will, wherein Self is so strictly bound, Then am I condemned;

I know that there are slumbrous wo… On islands of white marges, where… Floods upward, blue as a kingfishe… And sails, like wishes of a reveri… Shine to the wind that fills them,…

Over all the watered vale Shadows of the clouds trail: Then the sun laughs out, and sheen Runs like joy across the green. Young the leaf is, young the flowe…

To a bare blue hill Wings an old thought roaming, At a random touch Of memory homing. The first of England

She is not fair, as some are fair, Cold as the snow, as sunshine gay: On her clear brow, come grief what… She suffers not too stern an air; But, grave in silence, sweet in sp…