Friendship

The scriptures affirm (as I heard in my youth,
For indeed I ne'er read them, to speak for once truth)
That death is the wages of sin, but the just
Shall die not, although they be laid in the dust.
They say so; so be it, I care not a straw,
Although I be dead both in gospel and law;
In verse I shall live, and be read in each climate;
What more can be said of prime sergeant or primate?
While Carter and Prendergast both may be rotten,
And damn'd to the bargain, and yet be forgotten.

They walk here with us, hand-in-hand;
We gossip, knee-by-knee;
They tell us all that they have planned -
Of all their joys to be, -
And, laughing, leave us: And, to-day,
All desolate we cry
Across wide waves of voiceless graves -
Good-by! Good-by! Good-by!

Rustling among his odds and ends of knowledge
Suddenly, to his wonder, Senlin finds
How Cleopatra and Senebtisi
Were dug by many hands from ancient tombs.
Cloth after scented cloth the sage unwinds:
Delicious to see our futile modern sunlight
Dance like a harlot among these Dogs and Dooms!
First, the huge pyramid, with rock on rock
Bloodily piled to heaven; and under this
A gilded cavern, bat festooned;
And here in rows on rows, with gods about them,
Cloudily lustrous, dim, the sacred coffins,
Silver starred and crimson mooned.
What holy secret shall we now uncover?
Inside the outer coffin is a second;
Inside the second, smaller, lies a third.
This one is carved, and like a human body;
And painted over with fish and bull and bird.
Here are men walkin...

        Nay, move not! Sit just as you are,
        Under the carved wings of the chair.
        The hearth-glow sifting through your hair
        Turns every dim pearl to a star
        Dawn-drowned in floods of brightening air.

        I have been thinking of that night
        When all the wide hall burst to blaze
        With spears caught up, thrust fifty ways
        To find my throat, while I lay white
        And sick with joy, to think the days

        I dragged out in your hateful North--
        A slave, constrained at banquet's need
        To fill the black bull's horns with mead
        For drunken sea-thieves--were henceforth
        Cast from me as a poison weed,

        While Death thrust roses in my hands!
        But you, w...

Still, Dorinda, I adore;
Think I mean not to deceive you,
For I loved you much before,
And, alas! now love you more
Though I force myself to leave you.

Staying I my vows shall fail,
Virtue yields as love grows stronger;
Fierce desires will prevail,
You are fair and I am frail,
And dare trust myself no longer.

You, my love, too nicely coy,
Lest I should have gain'd the treasure,
Made my vows and oaths destroy
The pleasing hopes I did enjoy
Of all my future peace and pleasure.

To my vows I have been true,
And in silence hid my anguish,
But I cannot promise too
What my love may make me do
While with her for whom I languish.

For in thee strange magic lies,
And my heart is too, too tender;
Nothing's proof agains...

The Sabbath-day, of every day the best,
The poor mans happiness, a poor man sings;
When labour has no claim to break his rest,
And the light hours fly swift on easy wings.
What happiness this holy morning brings,
How soft its pleasures on his senses steal;
How sweet the village-bells' first warning rings;
And O how comfortable does he feel,
When with his family at ease he takes his early meal.

The careful wife displays her frugal hoard,
And both partake in comfort though they're poor;
While love's sweet offsprings crowd the lowly board,
Their little likenesses in miniature.
Though through the week he labour does endure,
And weary limbs oft cause him to complain,
This welcome morning always brings a cure;
It teems with joys his soul to entertain,
And...

How many times, like lotus lilies risen
Upon the surface of a river, there
Have risen floating on my blood the rare
Soft glimmers of my hope escaped from prison.

So I am clothed all over with the light
And sensitive beautiful blossoming of passion;
Till naked for her in the finest fashion
The flowers of all my mud swim into sight.

And then I offer all myself unto
This woman who likes to love me: but she turns
A look of hate upon the flower that burns
To break and pour her out its precious dew.

And slowly all the blossom shuts in pain,
And all the lotus buds of love sink over
To die unopened: when my moon-faced lover,
Kind on the weight of suffering, smiles again.

Ah why deceive ourselves! by no mere fit
Of sudden passion roused shall men attain
True freedom where for ages they have lain
Bound in a dark abominable pit,
With life's best sinews more and more unknit.
Here, there, a banded few who loathe the chain
May rise to break it; effort worse than vain
For thee, O great Italian nation, split
Into those jarring fractions. Let thy scope
Be one fixed mind for all; thy rights approve
To thy own conscience gradually renewed;
Learn to make Time the father of wise Hope;
Then trust thy cause to the arm of Fortitude,
The light of Knowledge, and the warmth of Love.

My lamp is out, my task is done,
    And up the stair with lingering feet
I climb.    The staircase clock strikes one.
    Good night, my love! good night, my sweet!

My solitary room I gain.
    A single star makes incomplete
The blackness of the window pane.
    Good night, my love! good night, my sweet!

Dim and more dim its sparkle grows,
    And ere my head the pillows meet,
My lids are fain themselves to close.
    Good night, my love! good night, my sweet!

My lips no other words can say,
    But still they murmur and repeat
To you, who slumber far away,
    Good night, my love! good night, my sweet!

After the May time, and after the June time,
    Rare with blossoms and perfumes sweet,
Cometh the round world's royal noon time,
    The red midsummer of blazing heat.
When the sun, like an eye that never closes,
    Bends on the earth its fervid gaze,
And the winds are still, and the crimson roses
    Droop and wither and die in its rays.

Unto my heart has come that season,
    O my lady, my worshipped one,
When over the stars of Pride and Reason
    Sails Love's cloudless, noonday sun.
Like a great red ball in my bosom burning
    With fires that nothing can quench or tame.
It glows till my heart itself seems turning
    Into a liquid lake of flame.

The hopes half shy, and the sighs all tender,
    The dreams and fears of an earlier day,

Ranging the heights of Scawfell or Blackcomb,
In his lone course the Shepherd oft will pause,
And strive to fathom the mysterious laws
By which the clouds, arrayed in light or gloom,
On Mona settle, and the shapes assume
Of all her peaks and ridges. What he draws
From sense, faith, reason, fancy, of the cause,
He will take with him to the silent tomb.
Or, by his fire, a child upon his knee,
Haply the untaught Philosopher may speak
Of the strange sight, nor hide his theory
That satisfies the simple and the meek,
Blest in their pious ignorance, though weak
To cope with Sages undevoutly free.

        A man to Jupiter preferred
        Prayers for a wife: his prayer was heard.
        Jove smiled to see the man caressing
        The granted prayer and doubtful blessing.

        Again he troubled Jove with prayers:
        Fraught with a wife, he wanted heirs:
        They came, to be annoys or joys -
        One girl and two big bouncing boys.
        And, a third time, he prayed his prayer
        For grace unto his son and heir -
        That he, who should his name inherit,
        Might be replete with worth and merit.
        Then begged his second might aspire,
        With strong ambition, martial fire;
        That Fortune he might break or bend,
        And on her neck to heights ascend.
        Last, for the daughter, prayed that gra...

Some three, or five, or seven, and thirty years;
A Roman nose; a dimpling double-chin;
Dark eyes and shy that, ignorant of sin,
Are yet acquainted, it would seem, with tears;
A comely shape; a slim, high-coloured hand,
Graced, rather oddly, with a signet ring;
A bashful air, becoming everything;
A well-bred silence always at command.
Her plain print gown, prim cap, and bright steel chain
Look out of place on her, and I remain
Absorbed in her, as in a pleasant mystery.
Quick, skilful, quiet, soft in speech and touch . . .
'Do you like nursing?'    'Yes, Sir, very much.'
Somehow, I rather think she has a history.

Lasciato hai, Morte, senza sole il mondo.

HER TRUE WORTH WAS KNOWN ONLY TO HIM AND TO HEAVEN.


    Death, thou the world, since that dire arrow sped,
Sunless and cold hast left; Love weak and blind;
Beauty and grace their brilliance have resign'd,
And from my heavy heart all joy is fled;
Honour is sunk, and softness banishèd.
I weep alone the woes which all my kind
Should weep--for virtue's fairest flower has pined
Beneath thy touch: what second blooms instead?
Let earth, sea, air, with common wail bemoan
Man's hapless race; which now, since Laura died,
A flowerless mead, a gemless ring appears.
The world possess'd, nor knew her worth, till flown!
I knew it well, who here in grief abide;
And heaven too knows, which decks its forehead with my...

Dwell, not with me,
For you’ll never see
More than a ’possum or a kangaroo,
And now and then a cockatoo.

Oh, would you wish,
Without a dish,
Your scanty meal from a piece of bark,
And a wood fire to illume the dark.

’Tis there you’d mourn,
’Tis there you’d mourn
The sweet woodbine
That round your lattice now doth twine.

Fond friends, don’t grieve
For scenes like these,
Or smart from bugs, mosquitoes, fleas.
Dwell not with me.

If rich designs of sumptuous art may please,
Or Nature's loftier views, august and old,
Stranger! behold this spreading scene; behold
This amphitheatre of aged trees,
That solemn wave above thee, and around
Darken the towering hills! Dost thou complain
That thou shouldst cope with penury or pain,
Or sigh to think what pleasures might be found
Amid such wide possessions! Pause awhile;
Imagine thou dost see the sick man smile;
See the pale exiles, that in yonder dome,
Safe from the wasteful storm, have found a home;[1]
And thank the Giver of all good, that lent
To the humane, retired, beneficent,
The power to bless. Nor lift thy heart elate,
If such domains be thine; but emulate
The fair example, and those deeds, that rise
Like holy incense wafte...

I' dolci colli ov' io lasciai me stesso.

HE LEAVES VAUCLUSE, BUT HIS SPIRIT REMAINS THERE WITH LAURA.


    The loved hills where I left myself behind,
Whence ever 'twas so hard my steps to tear,
Before me rise; at each remove I bear
The dear load to my lot by Love consign'd.
Often I wonder inly in my mind,
That still the fair yoke holds me, which despair
Would vainly break, that yet I breathe this air;
Though long the chain, its links but closer bind.
And as a stag, sore struck by hunter's dart,
Whose poison'd iron rankles in his breast,
Flies and more grieves the more the chase is press'd,
So I, with Love's keen arrow in my heart,
Endure at once my death and my delight,
Rack'd with long grief, and weary with vain flight.

MACGREGO...

I leave the world to-morrow,
What news for Fairyland?
I’m tired of dust and sorrow
And folk on every hand.

A moon more calm and splendid
Moves there through deeper skies,
By maiden stars attended
She peaces goddes-wise.

And there no wrath oppresses,
And there no teardrops start,
There cool winds breathe caresses,
That soothe the weary heart.

The wealth the mad world follows
Turns ashes in the hand
Of him who sees the hollows
And glades of Fairyland.

And pine boughs sigh no sorrow
Where fairy rotas play,
I leave the world to-morrow
For ever and a day.