When Bahram rode to the chase, Then saw ye his soul’s delight Full on his kingly face. Who could his steed outpace? He swooped like a falcon’s flight;

O summer sun, O moving trees! O cheerful human noise, O busy gl… What hour shall Fate in all the f… Or what delights, ever to equal th… Only to taste the warmth, the ligh…

Now in thy splendour go before us. Spirit of England, ardent-eyed, Enkindle this dear earth that bore… In the hour of peril purified. The cares we hugged drop out of vi…

We parted at golden dawn. I feasted my last on her eyes, And journeyed, journeyed alone: Mountains and cities and skies Hurried with cruel pace,

The Spirit of Earth, robed in gre… The Spirit of Air, robed in blue; The Spirit of Water, robed in sil… The Spirit of Fire, robed in red. Each steps forward in turn.

Magnificent the Beast! Look in th… Of the fell tiger towering on his… Beautiful in his power to pounce a… And effortless in action. He deni… All but himself. He gloats on his…

Just as I came Into the empty, westward—facing ro… A sudden gust blew wide The tall window; at once A shock of sudden light, vibrating…

Life from sunned peak, witched woo… A hundred ways the eager spirit wo… To roam, to dream, to conquer, to… Yet in its ear a voice cries ever,… So many ways, yet only one shall f…

Hyde Park August from a vault of hollow bras… Steep upon the sullen city glares. Yellower burns the sick and parchi… Shivering in the breath of furnace…

Peace is perfect over All the hills. Scarce wilt thou discover A breath, so still’s Every tree.

Now December darkens Over Autumn dead. The frozen earth now hearkens For the last leaf to be shed. Above gray grass the branches bare

Keen comes the dizzy air In one tumultuous breath. The tower to heaven lies bare; Dumb stir the streets beneath. Immeasurable sky

Through storm—blown gloom the subt… Shapes of tumultuous, ghostly clou… Trailing a dark shower from hill—d… Dawn, desolate in its majesty, is… But ere the wayside trees show lea…

No more of sorrow, the world’s old… Nor war of thronging spirits numbe… Immortal ardours in brief days con… No more the languid fever of manki… To—day I sing: ’tis no melodious…

When old wounds bleed again In the silence of the night, And mixt with sweet delight Wells up the stream of pain, Is it less hard to endure