Come Into The Garden, Maud
Come into the garden, Maud, For the black bat, Night, has flown, Come into the garden, Maud, I am here at the gate alone; And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, And the musk
In Memoriam A. H. H.: 55. The wish, that of the living whol
The wish, that of the living whole No life may fail beyond the grave, Derives it not from what we have The likest God within the soul? Are God and Nature then at strife,
The Palace of Art
I built my soul a lordly pleasure-house, Wherein at ease for aye to dwell. I said, “O Soul, make merry and carouse, Dear soul, for all is well.” A huge crag-platform, smooth as burnish’d
Memoriam A. H. H.: 67. When on my bed the moonlight fall
When on my bed the moonlight falls, I know that in thy place of rest By that broad water of the west, There comes a glory on the walls: Thy marble bright in dark
Lady Clare
IT was the time when lilies blow, And clouds are highest up in air, Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe To give his cousin, Lady Clare. I trow they did not part in scorn
To Virgil
Written at the Request of the Mantuans for the Nineteenth Centenary of Virgil’s Death Roman Virgil, thou that singest Ilion’s lofty temples robed in fire, Ilion falling, Rome arising, Wars, and filial faith, and
Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere
LIKE souls that balance joy and pain, With tears and smiles from heaven again The maiden Spring upon the plain Came in a sun-lit fall of rain. In crystal vapour everywhere Blue isles of
In Memoriam A. H. H.: 95. By night we linger'd on the lawn
By night we linger’d on the lawn, For underfoot the herb was dry; And genial warmth; and o’er the sky The silvery haze of summer drawn; And calm that let the tapers burn Unwavering:
Ulysses
It little profits that an idle king, By this still hearth, among these barren crags, Matched with an aged wife, I mete and dole Unequal laws unto a savage race, That hoard, and sleep,
The Princess: A Medley: O Swallow
O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South, Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves, And tell her, tell her, what I tell to thee. O tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each, That
Break, Break, Break
Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me. O, well for the fisherman’s boy, That he shouts with
The Higher Pantheism
The sun, the moon, the stars, the seas, the hills and the plains,- Are not these, O Soul, the Vision of Him who reigns? Is not the Vision He, tho’ He be not that
In Memoriam A. H. H.: 78. Again at Christmas did we weave
Again at Christmas did we weave The holly round the Christmas hearth; The silent snow possess’d the earth, And calmly fell our Christmas-eve: The yule-log sparkled keen with frost, No wing of wind the
In Memoriam A. H. H.: 7. Dark house, by which once more I s
Dark house, by which once more I stand Here in the long unlovely street, Doors, where my heart was used to beat So quickly, waiting for a hand, A hand that can be clasp’d
The Passing Of Arthur
That story which the bold Sir Bedivere, First made and latest left of all the knights, Told, when the man was no more than a voice In the white winter of his age, to