How solitary gleams the lamplit st… Waiting the far—off morn! How softly from the unresting city… The murmur borne Down this deserted way!

And must I deem you mortal as my… O solemn stars, that to man’s doub… So long have seemed, 'mid the worl… And glories gone, the sole eternal… To perishable flesh and mouldering…

The rain was ending, and light Lifting the leaden skies. It shone upon ceiling and floor And dazzled a child’s eyes. Pale after fever, a captive

Day begins cold and misty on soile… That frost has ridged and crusted.… Comes, then a shape emerges from t… Without haste, trudging tracks the… With his breath white upon the air…

A sultry perfume of voluptuous Ju… Enchants the air still breathing o… But now the impassioned Night dra… To fold me, in this high hollow, q… From oaken groves beneath and glim…

In the high leaves of a walnut, On the very topmost boughs, A boy that climbed the branching b… His cradled limbs would house. On the airy bed that rocked him

Their hearts were burning in their… Too hot for curse or cries. They stared upon the towers that b… Before their smarting eyes. There where, since France began t…

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,

Tarry a moment, happy feet, That to the sound of laughter glid… O glad ones of the evening street, Behold what forms are at your side… You conquerors of the toilsome day

In the time of wild roses As up Thames we travelled Where 'mid water-weeds ravelled The lily uncloses, To his old shores the river

There is a dimness fallen on old f… Our hearts are solemnized with dea… Than Time is bright with: we have… Or read of it in books; it is our… Eyes that have seen this wonder; l…

Within, the pillars soar to gloom Lit by the glimmering Rose ; Spirits of beauty shrined in stone Afar from mortal woes, Hearing not, though their haunted…

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…

Why hurt so hard by little pricks, By chasing cares so clouded over, Heart of mine? Holding what no storm can unfix Nor time corrupt, O tender lover!

Sitting with strangers in the hurr… We spoke not to each other. Golde… Flooded those warm fields greener… Then sudden darkness stole it all… Her face was gone; but on the dark…