Awake--arise! all my stormy powers, The earth, the fair earth, again is ours! At my stern approach, pale Autumn flings down In the dust her broken and faded crown;...
Winter scourges his horses Through the North, His hair is bitter snow On the great wind. The trees are weeping leaves Because the nests are dead, Because the flowers were nests of scent...
Nay tell me not that, with shivering fear, You shrink from the thought of wintering here; That the cold intense of our winter-time Is severe as that of Siberian clime,...
Go, little book, To him who, on a lute with horns of pearl, Sang of the white feet of the Golden Girl: And bid him look Into thy pages: it may hap that he May find that golden maidens dance through thee.
As one of some fat tillage dispossessed, Weighing the yield of these four faded years, If any ask what fruit seems loveliest, What lasting gold among the garnered ears, -...
With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the sky, "How silently, and with how wan a face!" Where art thou? Thou so often seen on high Running among the clouds a Wood-nymph's race!...
The drought is down on field and flock, The river-bed is dry; And we must shift the starving stock Before the cattle die. We muster up with weary hearts At breaking of the day,...
The drought is down on field and flock, The river-bed is dry; And we must shift the starving stock Before the cattle die. We muster up with weary hearts At breaking of the day,...
The horse is bedded down Where the straw lies deep. The hound is in the kennel; Let the poor hound sleep! And the fox is in the spinney By the run which he is haunting, And I'll lay an even guinea...
The woman singeth at her spinning-wheel A pleasant chant, ballad or barcarole; She thinketh of her song, upon the whole, Far more than of her flax; and yet the reel Is full, and artfully her fingers feel...
When first the fane, that, white, on Kingswood-Pen, Arrests, far off, the pausing stranger's ken, Echoed the hymn of praise, and on that day, Which seemed to shine with more auspicious ray,...
To a good Man of most dear memory This Stone is sacred. Here he lies apart From the great city where he first drew breath, Was reared and taught; and humbly earned his bread,...
Sons of the bright, green island, Gathered by the pine-fringed lake, In honour of his memory, Who battled for your sake, Listen, we too pay our tribute To a fame that well endures;...
Stay yet awhile, oh flowers!--oh wandering grasses, And creeping ferns, and climbing, clinging vines;-- Bend down and cover with lush odorous masses My darling's couch, where he in sleep reclines. ...
There, in that bed so closely curtain'd round, Worn to a shade, and wan with slow decay, A father sleeps! Oh hush'd be every sound! Soft may we breathe the midnight hours away! ...
Be my companion under cool arcades That frame some drowsy street and dazzling square Beyond whose flowers and palm-tree promenades White belfries burn in the blue tropic air....