Sic Vita
I am a parcel of vain strivings tied By a chance bond together, Dangling this way and that, their links Were made so loose and wide, Methinks, For milder weather. A bunch of violets
Let such pure hate still underprop
“Friends, Romans, Countrymen, and Lovers.” Let such pure hate still underprop Our love, that we may be Each other’s conscience, And have our sympathy Mainly from thence. We’ll one another treat like gods, And
The Summer Rain
My books I’d fain cast off, I cannot read, ‘Twixt every page my thoughts go stray at large Down in the meadow, where is richer feed, And will not mind to hit their proper
Prayer
Great God, I ask for no meaner pelf Than that I may not disappoint myself, That in my action I may soar as high As I can now discern with this clear eye. And
Within the Circuit of This Plodding Life
Within the circuit of this plodding life There enter moments of an azure hue, Untarnished fair as is the violet Or anemone, when the spring strews them By some meandering rivulet, which make The
Pray to What Earth
Pray to what earth does this sweet cold belong, Which asks no duties and no conscience? The moon goes up by leaps, her cheerful path In some far summer stratum of the sky, While