Earth's Immortalities
FAME. See, as the prettiest graves will do in time, Our poet’s wants the freshness of its prime; Spite of the sexton’s browsing horse, the sods Have struggled through its binding osier rods; Headstone
Protus
Among these latter busts we count by scores, Half-emperors and quarter-emperors, Each with his bay-leaf fillet, loose-thonged vest, Loricand low-browed Gorgon on the breast, – One loves a baby face, with violets there, Violets
Life in a Bottle
Escape me? Never Beloved! While I am I, and you are you, So long as the world contains us both, Me the loving and you the loth, While the one eludes, must the other
The Lost Leader
Just for a handful of silver he left us, Just for a riband to stick in his coat – Found the one gift of which fortune bereft us, Lost all the others she lets
Life In A Love
Escape me? Never – Beloved! While I am I, and you are you, So long as the world contains us both, Me the loving and you the loth, While the one eludes, must the
Epilogue To Asolando
At the midnight in the silence of the sleep-time, When you set your fancies free, Will they pass to where by death, fools think, imprisoned Low he lies who once so loved you, whom
The Statue and the Bust
There’s a palace in Florence, the world knows well, And a statue watches it from the square, And this story of both do our townsmen tell. Ages ago, a lady there, At the farthest
My Last Duchess
That’s my last duchess painted on the wall, Looking as if she were alive. I call That piece a wonder, now: Frà Pandolf’s hands Worked busily a day, and there she stands. Will’t please
Garden Francies
I. THE FLOWER’S NAME Here’s the garden she walked across, Arm in my arm, such a short while since: Hark, now I push its wicket, the moss Hinders the hinges and makes them wince!
De Gustibus –
I. Your ghost will walk, you lover of trees, (If our loves remain) In an English lane, By a cornfield-side a-flutter with poppies. Hark, those two in the hazel coppice – A boy and
Aix In Provence
Christ God who savest man, save most Of men Count Gismond who saved me! Count Gauthier, when he chose his post, Chose time and place and company To suit it; when he struck at
Boot And Saddle
Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! Rescue my Castle, before the hot day Brightens the blue from its silvery grey, (Chorus) “Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!” Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you’d
Waring
I What’s become of Waring Since he gave us all the slip, Chose land-travel or seafaring, Boots and chest, or staff and scrip, Rather than pace up and down Any longer London-town? Who’d have
The Glove
(PETER RONSARD loquitur.) ”Heigho!” yawned one day King Francis, ”Distance all value enhances! ”When a man’s busy, why, leisure ”Strikes him as wonderful pleasure: ” ‘Faith, and at leisure once is he? ”Straightway he
A Woman's Last Word
I. Let’s contend no more, Love, Strive nor weep: All be as before, Love, -Only sleep! II. What so wild as words are? I and thou In debate, as birds are, Hawk on bough!