[SPAIN.] I. It is a lie – their Priests, their Pope, Their Saints, their… all they fear or hope Are lies, and lies – there! through my door And ceiling, there! and walls and
“As certain also of your own poets have said” (Acts 17.28) Cleon the poet (from the sprinkled isles, Lily on lily, that o’erlace the sea And laugh their pride when the light wave lisps
I. You know, we French stormed Ratisbon: A mile or so away, On a little mound, Napoleon Stood on our storming-day; With neck out-thrust, you fancy how, Legs wide, arms locked behind, As if
OVER the sea our galleys went, With cleaving prows in order brave To a speeding wind and a bounding wave A gallant armament: Each bark built out of a forest-tree Left leafy and rough
A PICTURE AT FANO. I. Dear and great Angel, wouldst thou only leave That child, when thou hast done with him, for me! Let me sit all the day here, that when eve Shall
“Why?” Because all I haply can and do, All that I am now, all I hope to be, Whence comes it save from fortune setting free Body and soul the purpose to pursue, God
ON WHICH THE JEWS WERE FORCED TO ATTEND AN ANNUAL CHRISTIAN SERMON IN ROME. [”Now was come about Holy-Cross Day, And now must my lord preach his first sermon To the Jews: as it
An Old Story I It was roses, roses, all the way, With myrtle mixed in my path like mad. The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway, The church-spires flamed, such flags they had, A
Oh, good gigantic smile o’ the brown old earth, This autumn morning! How he sets his bones To bask i’ the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet For the ripple to run over
HEAP cassia, sandal-buds and stripes Of labdanum, and aloe-balls, Smear’d with dull nard an Indian wipes From out her hair: such balsam falls Down sea-side mountain pedestals, From tree-tops where tired winds are fain,
I. All I believed is true! I am able yet All I want, to get By a method as strange as new: Dare I trust the same to you? II. If at night, when
I. I said – Then, dearest, since ’tis so, Since now at length my fate I know, Since nothing all my love avails, Since all, my life seemed meant for, fails, Since this was
I My love, this is the bitterest, that thou Who art all truth and who dost love me now As thine eyes say, as thy voice breaks to say – Shouldst love so truly
I. Stand still, true poet that you are! I know you; let me try and draw you. Some night you’ll fail us: when afar You rise, remember one man saw you, Knew you, and
The year’s at the spring, And day’s at the morn; Morning’s at seven; The hill-side’s dew-pearled; The lark’s on the wing; The snail’s on the thorn; God’s in his Heaven – All’s right with
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