Eudaemon
O happiness, I know not what far seas, Blue hills and deep, thy sunny realms surround, That thus in Music’s wistful harmonies And concert of sweet sound A rumor steals, from some uncertain shore,
Sonnet XIII
I fancied, while you stood conversing there, Superb, in every attitude a queen, Her ermine thus Boadicea bare, So moved amid the multitude Faustine. My life, whose whole religion Beauty is, Be charged with
On a Theme in the Greek Anthology
Thy petals yet are closely curled, Rose of the world, Around their scented, golden core; Nor yet has Summer purpled o’er Thy tender clusters that begin To swell within The dewy vine-leaves’ early screen
Sonnet IV
Up at his attic sill the South wind came And days of sun and storm but never peace. Along the town’s tumultuous arteries He heard the heart-throbs of a sentient frame: Each night the
Sonnet 12
Clouds rosy-tinted in the setting sun, Depths of the azure eastern sky between, Plains where the poplar-bordered highways run, Patched with a hundred tints of brown and green, Beauty of Earth, when in thy
Sonnet 10
I have sought Happiness, but it has been A lovely rainbow, baffling all pursuit, And tasted Pleasure, but it was a fruit More fair of outward hue than sweet within. Renouncing both, a flake
On the Cliffs, Newport
Tonight a shimmer of gold lies mantled o’er Smooth lovely Ocean. Through the lustrous gloom A savor steals from linden trees in bloom And gardens ranged at many a palace door. Proud walls rise
Translations: Dante – Inferno, Canto XXVI
Florence, rejoice! For thou o’er land and sea So spread’st thy pinions that the fame of thee Hath reached no less into the depths of Hell. So noble were the five I found to
Bellinglise
Deep in the sloping forest that surrounds The head of a green valley that I know, Spread the fair gardens and ancestral grounds Of Bellinglise, the beautiful chateau. Through shady groves and fields of
Written in a Volume of the Comtesse de Noailles
Be my companion under cool arcades That frame some drowsy street and dazzling square Beyond whose flowers and palm-tree promenades White belfries burn in the blue tropic air. Lie near me in dim forests
Rendezvous
I have a rendezvous with Death At some disputed barricade, I have a rendezvous with Death At some disputed barricade, When Spring comes back with rustling shade And apple-blossoms fill the air I have
Juvenilia, An Ode to Natural Beauty
There is a power whose inspiration fills Nature’s fair fabric, sun – and star-inwrought, Like airy dew ere any drop distils, Like perfume in the laden flower, like aught Unseen which interfused throughout the
Ode in Memory of the American Volunteers Fallen for France
I Ay, it is fitting on this holiday, Commemorative of our soldier dead, When with sweet flowers of our New England May Hiding the lichened stones by fifty years made gray Their graves in
The Hosts
Purged, with the life they left, of all That makes life paltry and mean and small, In their new dedication charged With something heightened, enriched, enlarged, That lends a light to their lusty brows
The Sultan's Palace
My spirit only lived to look on Beauty’s face, As only when they clasp the arms seem served aright; As in their flesh inheres the impulse to embrace, To gaze on Loveliness was my