De Coenatione Micae
LOOK round: You see a little supper room; But from my window, lo! great Caesar’s tomb! And the great dead themselves, with jovial breath Bid you be merry and remember death.
Come, My Beloved, Hear From Me
COME, my beloved, hear from me Tales of the woods or open sea. Let our aspiring fancy rise A wren’s flight higher toward the skies; Or far from cities, brown and bare, Play at
Late, O Miller
LATE, O miller, The birds are silent, The darkness falls. In the house the lights are lighted. See, in the valley they twinkle, The lights of home. Late, O lovers, The night is at
The Clock's Clear Voice Into The Clearer Air
THE cock’s clear voice into the clearer air Where westward far I roam, Mounts with a thrill of hope, Falls with a sigh of home. A rural sentry, he from farm and field The
Ad Se Ipsum
DEAR sir, good-morrow! Five years back, When you first girded for this arduous track, And under various whimsical pretexts Endowed another with your damned defects, Could you have dreamed in your despondent vein That
An English Breeze
UP with the sun, the breeze arose, Across the talking corn she goes, And smooth she rustles far and wide Through all the voiceful countryside. Through all the land her tale she tells; She
Let Love Go, If Go She Will
LET love go, if go she will. Seek not, O fool, her wanton flight to stay. Of all she gives and takes away The best remains behind her still. The best remains behind; in
Strange Are The Ways Of Men
STRANGE are the ways of men, And strange the ways of God! We tread the mazy paths That all our fathers trod. We tread them undismayed, And undismayed behold The portents of the sky,
Tales Of Arabia
YES, friend, I own these tales of Arabia Smile not, as smiled their flawless originals, Age-old but yet untamed, for ages Pass and the magic is undiminished. Thus, friend, the tales of the old
To the Muse
Resign the rhapsody, the dream, To men of larger reach; Be ours the quest of a plain theme, The piety of speech. As monkish scribes from morning break Toiled till the close of light,
To Friends At Home
TO friends at home, the lone, the admired, the lost The gracious old, the lovely young, to May The fair, December the beloved, These from my blue horizon and green isles, These from this
Lo, Now, My Guest
LO, now, my guest, if aught amiss were said, Forgive it and dismiss it from your head. For me, for you, for all, to close the date, Pass now the ev’ning sponge across the
Though Deep Indifference Should Drowse
THOUGH deep indifference should drowse The sluggish life beneath my brows, And all the external things I see Grow snow-showers in the street to me, Yet inmost in my stormy sense Thy looks shall
Shadow March
All around the house is the jet-black night; It stares through the window-pane; It crawls in the corners, hiding from the light, And it moves with the moving flame. Now my little heart goes
To Mesdames Zassetsky And Garschine
THE wind may blaw the lee-gang way And aye the lift be mirk an’ gray, An deep the moss and steigh the brae Where a’ maun gang – There’s still an hoor in ilka