Supremacy
There is a drear and lonely tract of hell From all the common gloom removed afar: A flat, sad land it is, where shadows are, Whose lorn estate my verse may never tell. I
John Brown
Though for your sake I would not have you now So near to me tonight as now you are, God knows how much a stranger to my heart Was any cold word that I
Eros Turannos
She fears him, and will always ask What fated her to choose him; She meets in his engaging mask All reason to refuse him. But what she meets and what she fears Are less
Calvary
Friendless and faint, with martyred steps and slow, Faint for the flesh, but for the spirit free, Stung by the mob that came to see the show, The Master toiled along to Calvary; We
Maya
Through an ascending emptiness of night, Leaving the flesh and complacent mind Together in their suffciency behind, The soul of man went up to a far height; And where those others would have had
The Man Against the Sky
Between me and the sunset, like a dome Against the glory of a world on fire, Now burned a sudden hill, Bleak, round, and high, by flame-lit height made higher, With nothing on it
Recalled
Long after there were none of them alive About the place-where there is now no place But a walled hole where fruitless vines embrace Their parent skeletons that yet survive In evil thorns-none of
The Return of Morgan and Fingal
And there we were together again – Together again, we three: Morgan, Fingal, fiddle, and all, They had come for the night with me. The spirit of joy was in Morgan’s wrist, There were
The Altar
Alone, remote, nor witting where I went, I found an altar builded in a dream – A fiery place, whereof there was a gleam So swift, so searching, and so eloquent Of upward promise,
Merlin
“Gawaine, Gawaine, what look ye for to see, So far beyond the faint edge of the world? D’ye look to see the lady Vivian, Pursued by divers ominous vile demons That have another king
Leffingwell
I-THE LURE No, no,-forget your Cricket and your Ant, For I shall never set my name to theirs That now bespeak the very sons and heirs Incarnate of Queen Gossip and King Cant. The
Old Trails
(WASHINGTON SQUARE) I met him, as one meets a ghost or two, Between the gray Arch and the old Hotel. “King Solomon was right, there’s nothing new,” Said he. “Behold a ruin who meant
The Voice of Age
She’d look upon us, if she could, As hard as Rhadamanthus would; Yet one may see,-who sees her face, Her crown of silver and of lace, Her mystical serene address Of age alloyed with
The Flying Dutchman
Unyielding in the pride of his defiance, Afloat with none to serve or to command, Lord of himself at last, and all by Science, He seeks the Vanished Land. Alone, by the one light
The Pity of the Leaves
Vengeful across the cold November moors, Loud with ancestral shame there came the bleak Sad wind that shrieked, and answered with a shriek, Reverberant through lonely corridors. The old man heard it; and he