Betwixt the Foe and France was sh… France the immortal, France the f… The Foe, like one vast living sea… Drew nigh. He dreamed that none his tide woul…

Thine were the weak, slight hands That might have taken this strong… Its stubborn substance to thy soft… And bound it unresisting, with suc… As not the arm of envious heaven h…

Seven moons, new moons, had eastwa… Averted from the sun; seven moons,… Westward their sun-averted horns h… Since Angelo had brought his youn… Lucia, to queen it in his Tuscan…

As one whose eyes have watched the… Swoon to its crimson death adown t… Turning his face to eastward sudde… Sees a lack—lustre world all chill… Then, wandering sunless whitherso…

What! and shall _we_, with such su… As age demands in reverence from t… Await these crumbs of praise from… And doubt of our own greatness til… The signet of your Goethes or Vol…

I Love cometh and love goeth, And he is wise who knoweth Whither and whence love flies: But wise and yet more wise Are they that heed not whence he f…

A beckoning spirit of gladness see… That lightly danced in laughing ai… The earth was all in tune, and you… Of Nature’s happy chorus. ’Twas like a vernal morn, yet over…

April, April, Laugh thy girlish laughter; Then, the moment after, Weep thy girlish tears! April, that mine ears

So without rest or tarriance all t… Until the world was blear with com… Forth fared the princely fugitive,… His wearied feet till morn returni… Some village all a-hum with wakefu…

The old rude church, with bare, ba… Beneath its shadow high-born Roth… Rotha, remembering well who slumbe… And with cool murmur lulling his r… Rotha, remembering well who slumbe…

Nay, bid me not my cares to leave, Who cannot from their shadow flee. I do but win a short reprieve, ‘Scaping to pleasure and to thee. I may, at best, a moment’s grace,

When birds were songless on the bo… I heard thee sing. The world was full of winter, thou Wert full of spring. To-day the world’s heart feels ane…

Behold life builded as a goodly ho… And grown a mansion ruinous With winter blowing through its cr… The master paceth up and down his… And in the empty hours

Last night the seawind was to me A metaphor of liberty, And every wave along the beach A starlit music seemed to be. To-day the seawind is to me

She was a lady great and splendid, I was a minstrel in her halls. A warrior like a prince attended Stayed his steed by the castle wal… Far had he fared to gaze upon her.