Robert Seymour Bridges
Winter Nightfall
The day begins to droop, Its course is done: But nothing tells the place Of the setting sun. The hazy darkness deepens, And up the lane You may hear, but cannot see, The homing
When Death to Either shall come
When Death to either shall come,- I pray it be first to me,- Be happy as ever at home, If so, as I wish, it be. Possess thy heart, my own; And sing to
A Passer-by
Whither, O splendid ship, thy white sails crowding, Leaning across the bosom of the urgent West, That fearest nor sea rising, nor sky clouding, Whither away, fair rover, and what thy quest? Ah! soon,
To Thos. Floyd
How fares it, friend, since I by Fate annoy’d Left the old home in need of livelier play For body and mind? How fare, this many a day, The stubborn thews and ageless heart
To the United States of America
Brothers in blood! They who this wrong began To wreck our commonwealth, will rue the day When first they challenged freeman to the fray, And with the Briton dared the American. Now are we
Pater Filio
Sense with keenest edge unusèd, Yet unsteel’d by scathing fire; Lovely feet as yet unbruisèd On the ways of dark desire; Sweetest hope that lookest smiling O’er the wilderness defiling! Why such beauty, to
So sweet love seemed that April morn
So sweet love seemed that April morn, When first we kissed beside the thorn, So strangely sweet, it was not strange We thought that love could never change. But I can tell let truth
I Will Not Let Thee Go
I will not let thee go. Ends all our month-long love in this? Can it be summed up so, Quit in a single kiss? I will not let thee go. I will not let
The Growth of Love
1 They that in play can do the thing they would, Having an instinct throned in reason’s place, And every perfect action hath the grace Of indolence or thoughtless hardihood These are the best:
To Joseph Joachim
Belov’d of all to whom that Muse is dear Who hid her spirit of rapture from the Greek, Whereby our art excelleth the antique, Perfecting formal beauty to the ear; Thou that hast been
From 'The Testament of Beauty'
‘Twas at that hour of beauty when the setting sun Squandereth his cloudy bed with rosy hues, to flood His lov’d works as in turn he biddeth them Good-night; And all the towers and
In autumn moonlight, when the white air wan
In autumn moonlight, when the white air wan Is fragrant in the wake of summer hence, ‘Tis sweet to sit entranced, and muse thereon In melancholy and godlike indolence: When the proud spirit, lull’d
My Delight and Thy Delight
My delight and thy delight Walking, like two angels white, In the gardens of the night: My desire and thy desire Twining to a tongue of fire, Leaping live, and laughing higher: Thro’ the
Melancholia
The sickness of desire, that in dark days Looks on the imagination of despair, Forgetteth man, and stinteth God his praise; Nor but in sleep findeth a cure for care. Incertainty that once gave
Spirits
Angel spirits of sleep, White-robed, with silver hair, In your meadows fair, Where the willows weep, And the sad moonbeam On the gliding stream Writes her scatter’d dream: Angel spirits of sleep, Dancing to