Go now, Love, Since staying’s joy no longer! Leave me to prove If Time can make me stronger! Nay, look not over thy shoulder so…

Pale are the words I build for my… To house in; pale as the chill mis… An ardent morn. My fire to others… But dimly burns through the frail… I cast but shadows from my inward…

And were they but for this, those… Of joy, that I have nursed? indee… That longings, day and night, have… Now it has come, the hour of bliss… How different it seems!

Night smiles on me with her stars, Mystic, pure, enchanted, lone. Light, that only heaven discloses, Is in heaven that no cloud mars; Here, through murmuring darkness b…

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

Your hearts are lifted up, your he… That have foreknown the utter pric… Your hearts burn upward like a fla… Of splendour and of sacrifice. For you, you too, to battle go,

So sad and so lonely, Dear? What dream by the fire do you drea… So deep, that you could not hear My step as I entered? Dim Is the room and the ceiling above…

What is lovelier than rain that li… Falling through the western light? The light that’s red between my fi… Bathes infinite heaven’s remotest… Whither will the cloud its darknes…

To whom but thee, my youth to dedi… My youth, which these few leaves h… Should I now come, although I com… Alas! and can but lay them on thy… To whom but thee? From thee, I kn…

Shall we but turn from braggart pr… Our race to cheapen and defame? Before the world to wail, to chide… And weakness as with vaunting clai… Ere the hour strikes, to abdicate

A far look in absorbed eyes, unawa… Of what some gazer thrills to gath… Happy voice, singing to itself apa… That pulses new blood through a li… Bowed fortitude; and in an hour of…

Ah, now this happy month is gone, Not now, my heart, complain, Nor rail at Time because so soon He takes his own again. He takes his own, the weeks, the h…

Pale are the words I build for my… To house in; pale as the chill mis… An ardent morn. My fire to others… But dimly burns through the frail… I cast but shadows from my inward…

Ask me not, Dear, what thing it i… That makes me love you so; What graces, what sweet qualities, That from your spirit flow: For I have but this old reply,