Blessed, yet sinful one, and broken-hearted! The crowd are pointing at the thing forlorn, In wonder and in scorn! Thou weepest days of innocence departed; Thou weepest, and thy tears have power to move...
I buckle to my slender side The pistol and the scimitar, And in my maiden flower and pride Am come to share the tasks of war. And yonder stands my fiery steed, That paws the ground and neighs to go,...
When the radiant morn of creation broke, And the world in the smile of God awoke, And the empty realms of darkness and death Were moved through their depths by his mighty breath,...
Ay, thou art for the grave; thy glances shine Too brightly to shine long; another Spring Shall deck her for men's eyes, but not for thine, Sealed in a sleep which knows no wakening....
The country ever has a lagging Spring, Waiting for May to call its violets forth, And June its roses, showers and sunshine bring, Slowly, the deepening verdure o'er the earth;...
To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides...
Chained in the market-place he stood, A man of giant frame, Amid the gathering multitude That shrunk to hear his name, All stern of look and strong of limb, His dark eye on the ground:...
When to the common rest that crowns our days, Called in the noon of life, the good man goes, Or full of years, and ripe in wisdom, lays His silver temples in their last repose;...
To the town of Atienza, Molina's brave Alcayde, The courteous and the valorous, led forth his bold brigade. The Moor came back in triumph, he came without a wound,...
Here are old trees, tall oaks and gnarled pines, That stream with gray-green mosses; here the ground Was never trenched by spade, and flowers spring up Unsown, and die ungathered. It is sweet...
Gone is the long, long winter night; Look, my beloved one! How glorious, through his depths of light, Rolls the majestic sun! The willows, waked from winter's death,...
Erewhile, on England's pleasant shores, our sires Left not their churchyards unadorned with shades Or blossoms; and indulgent to the strong And natural dread of man's last home, the grave,...
Fair is thy site, Sorrento, green thy shore, Black crags behind thee pierce the clear blue skies; The sea, whose borderers ruled the world of yore, As clear and bluer still before thee lies. ...
I would not always reason. The straight path Wearies us with its never-varying lines, And we grow melancholy. I would make Reason my guide, but she should sometimes sit...
At morn the Count of Greiers before his castle stands; He sees afar the glory that lights the mountain lands; The horned crags are shining, and in the shade between...
Where olive leaves were twinkling in every wind that blew, There sat beneath the pleasant shade a damsel of Peru. Betwixt the slender boughs, as they opened to the air,...