And down I went to fetch my bride: But, Alice, you were ill at ease; This dress and that by turns you tried, Too fearful that you should not please. I loved you better for your fears, I knew you could not look but well; And dews, that would have fall'n in tears, I kiss'd away before they fell.
Tis not your work, but Love's. Love, unperceived, A more ideal Artist he than all, Came, drew your pencil from you, made those eyes Darker than the darkest pansies, and that hair More black than ashbuds in the front of March.
Gone - flitted away, Taken the stars from the night and the sun From the day! Gone, and a cloud in my heart.
I waited for the train at Coventry; I hung with grooms and porters on the bridge, To watch the three tall spires; and there I shaped The city's ancient legend into this.
Thoroughly to believe in one's own self, so one's self were thorough, were to do great things.
Earth is dry to the centre, But spring, a new comer, A spring rich and strange, Shall make the winds blow Round and round, Thro' and thro', Here and there, Till the air And the ground Shall be fill'd with life anew.
Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver.
You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear; To-morrow'll be the happiest time of all the glad New Year,- Of all the glad New Year, mother, the maddest, merriest day; For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be queen o' the May.
Our little systems have their day; They have their day and cease to be… And thou, O Lord, art more than they.
Jewels five-words-long, That on the stretch'd forefinger of all Time Sparkle forever.
But for the unquiet heart and brain A use in measured language lies; The sad mechanic exercise Like dull narcotics numbing pain.
And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers.
For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid.
A daughter of the gods, divinely tall, And most divinely fair.
Bible reading is an education in itself.
That a lie which is all a lie may be met and fought with outright, But a lie which is part a truth is a harder matter to fight.
Happy he With such a mother! faith in womankind Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high Comes easy to him; and tho' he trip and fall, He shall not blind his soul with clay.
You, methinks you think you love me well; For me, I love you somewhat; rest: and Love Should have some rest and pleasure in himself, Not ever be too curious for a boon, Too prurient for a proof against the grain Of him ye say ye love: but Fame with men, Being but ampler means to serve mankind, Should have small rest or pleasure in herself, But work as vassal to the larger love, That dwarfs the petty love of one to one.
For this alone on Death I wreak The wrath that garners in my heart: He put our lives so far apart We cannot hear each other speak.
In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove; In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.
That tower of strength Which stood four-square to all the winds that blew.
From yon blue heaven above us bent, The grand old gardener and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent.
I came in haste with cursing breath, And heart of hardest steel; But when I saw thee cold in death, I felt as man should feel. For when I look upon that face, That cold, unheeding, frigid brown, Where neither rage nor fear has place, By Heaven! I cannot hate thee now!
Because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.
I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage, The linnet born within the cage, That never knew the summer woods.
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