I cannot forget with what fervid devotion
I worshipped the vision of verse and of fame.
Each gaze at the glories of earth, sky, and ocean,
To my kindled emotions, was wind over flame.

And deep were my musings in life's early blossom,
Mid the twilight of mountain groves wandering long;
How thrilled my young veins, and how throbbed my full bosom,
When o'er me descended the spirit of song.

'Mong the deep-cloven fells that for ages had listened
To the rush of the pebble-paved river between,
Where the kingfisher screamed and gray precipice glistened,
All breathless with awe have I gazed on the scene;

Till I felt the dark power o'er my reveries stealing,
From his throne in the depth of that stern solitude,
And he breathed through my lips, in that tempest of ...

You must be very old, Sir Giles,
    I said; he said: Yea, very old!
Whereat the mournfullest of smiles
    Creased his dry skin with many a fold.

They hammer'd out my basnet point
    Into a round salade, he said,
The basnet being quite out of joint,
    Natheless the salade rasps my head.

He gazed at the great fire awhile:
    And you are getting old, Sir John;
(He said this with that cunning smile
    That was most sad) we both wear on;

Knights come to court and look at me,
    With eyebrows up; except my lord,
And my dear lady, none I see
    That know the ways of my old sword.

(My lady! at that word no pang
    Stopp'd all my blood). But tell me, John,
Is it quite true that Pagans hang
    So thick about the east, th...

Friend of my early days, we meet once more!
Once more I stand thine aged boughs beneath,
And hear again the rustling music pour,
Along thy leaves, as whispering spirits breathe.

Full many a day of sunshine and of storm,
Since last we parted, both have surely known;
Thy leaves are thinned, decrepit is thy form,
And all my cherished visions, they are flown!

How beautiful, how brief, those sunny hours
Departed now, when life was in its spring
When Fancy knew no scene undecked with flowers,
And Expectation flew on Fancy's wing!

Here, on the bank, beside this whispering stream,
Which still runs by as gayly as of yore,
Marking its eddies, I was wont to dream
Of things away, on some far fairy shore.

Then every whirling leaf and bubbling ball,<...

Linger no more, my beloved, by abbey and cell and cathedral;
Mourn not for holy ones mourning of old them who knew not the Father,
Weeping with fast and scourge, when the bridegroom was taken from them.
Drop back awhile through the years, to the warm rich youth of the nations,
Childlike in virtue and faith, though childlike in passion and pleasure,
Childlike still, and still near to their God, while the day-spring of Eden
Lingered in rose-red rays on the peaks of Ionian mountains.
Down to the mothers, as Faust went, I go, to the roots of our manhood,
Mothers of us in our cradles; of us once more in our glory.
New-born, body and soul, in the great pure world which shall be
In the renewing of all things, when man shall return to his Eden
Conquering evil, and death, and shame, and the sl...

How sweet it us'd to be, when April first
Unclos'd the arum-leaves, and into view
Its ear-like spindling flowers their cases burst,
Beting'd with yellowish white or lushy hue:
Though manhood now with such has small to do,
Yet I remember what delight was mine
When on my Sunday walks I us'd to go,
Flower-gathering tribes in childish bliss to join;
Peeping and searching hedge-row side or woods,
When thorns stain green with slow unclosing buds.
Ah, how delighted, humming on the time
Some nameless song or tale, I sought the flowers;
Some rushy dyke to jump, or brink to climb,
Ere I obtain'd them; while from hasty showers
Oft under trees we nestled in a ring,
Culling our "lords and ladies."--O ye hours!
I never see the broad-leav'd arum spring
Stained with spot...

[In Memory: 1877.]


What shall I say, my friend, my own heart healing,
When for my love you cannot answer me?
This earth would quake, alas! might I but see
You smile, death's rigorous law repealing!
Pale lips, your mystery so well concealing,
May not the eloquent, varied minstrelsy
Of my inspired ardor potent be
To touch your chords to music's uttered feeling?
Friend, here you cherished flowers: send me now
One ghostly bloom to prove that you are blessed.
No? If denial such as brands my brow
Be in your heavenly regions, too, confessed,
Oh may it prove the truth that your still eyes
Foresee the end of all futurities!

Chiming a dream by the way
With ocean's rapture and roar,
I met a maiden to-day
Walking alone on the shore:
Walking in maiden wise,
Modest and kind and fair,
The freshness of spring in her eyes
And the fulness of spring in her hair.

Cloud-shadow and scudding sun-burst
Were swift on the floor of the sea,
And a mad wind was romping its worst,
But what was their magic to me?
Or the charm of the midsummer skies?
I only saw she was there,
A dream of the sea in her eyes
And the kiss of the sea in her hair.

I watched her vanish in space;
She came where I walked no more;
But something had passed of her grace
To the spell of the wave and the shore;
And now, as the glad stars rise,
She comes to me, rosy and rare,
The delight of ...

In the youth of the year, when the birds were building,
    When the green was showing on tree and hedge,
And the tenderest light of all lights was gilding
    The world from zenith to outermost edge,
My soul grew sad and longingly lonely!
    I sighed for the season of sun and rose,
And I said, "In the Summer and that time only
    Lies sweet contentment and blest repose."

With bee and bird for her maids of honour
    Came Princess Summer in robes of green.
And the King of day smiled down upon her
    And wooed her, and won her, and made her queen.
Fruit of their union and true love's pledges,
    Beautiful roses bloomed day by day,
And rambled in gardens and hid in hedges
    Like royal children in sportive play.

My restless soul for a little sea...

Rich Statue, double-faced,
With Marble Temples graced,
    To rayse thy God-head hyer,
In flames where Altars shining,
Before thy Priests diuining,
    Doe od'rous Fumes expire.

Great IANVS, I thy pleasure,
With all the Thespian treasure,
    Doe seriously pursue;
To th' passed yeere returning,
As though the old adiourning,
    Yet bringing in the new.

Thy ancient Vigils yeerely,
I haue obserued cleerely,
    Thy Feasts yet smoaking bee;
Since all thy store abroad is,
Giue something to my Goddesse,
    As hath been vs'd by thee.

Giue her th' Eoan brightnesse,
Wing'd with that subtill lightnesse,
    That doth trans-pierce the Ayre;
The Roses of the Morning
The rising Heau'n adorning,
    To mesh with flames ...

Balmy morning! blessed morning!
            Dew-drops bright
All the emerald glade adorning
            In thy light -
In thy golden glowing beam
With an ever-changeful gleam
Flashing sparkling deeply glowing
Varying tints of beauty showing
            Everywhere
            Radiant are
        In thy welcome light!

Balmy morning! blessed morning!
            Flowers look up,
With a precious, pearly off'ring,
            In each cup -
Dewy off'ring gleaned by night,
As a tribute to the light, -
Far more precious than the gem
Of a monarch's diadem,
            Is the gift
            Which they lift
        To thy welcome light!

Balmy morning! blessed morning!
            Sounds of mirth,
From the vocal vales ...

Every morning and every night
    There passes our window near the street,
A little girl with an eye so bright,
    And a cheek so round and a lip so sweet;
The daintiest, jauntiest little miss
That ever any one longed to kiss.

She is neat as wax, and fresh to view,
    And her look is wholesome and clean, and good.
Whatever her gown, her hood is blue,
    And so we call her our "Little Blue Hood,"
For we know not the name of the dear little lass,
But we call to each other to see her pass.

"Little Blue Hood is coming now!"
    And we watch from the window while she goes by,
She has such a bonny, smooth, white brow,
    And a fearless look in her long-lashed eye;
And a certain dignity wedded to grace,
Seems to envelop her form and face.

    O sacred souls that grandly sing
        The secret songs of human hearts,
        Where your wild music madly starts,
    The sorrows into raptures spring!
    Within the warbles of your chimes
        Man reads the longings of his days,
        And finds, amid your lofty lays,
    Glad music for his gloomy times.

    How sweet the mute, melodious cries
        Which only lives like yours may hear,
        Where pleasures thrill the singer's ear
    With laughing strains of lullabies!
    You know soft voices, rich with love,
        That mingle in the fields and woods,
        To bless the silent solitudes
    With carols coming from above.

    Your golden harps resound alway,
        Where valley bound with blossom lies,
        An...

Gentle nymphs, be not refusing,
Love's neglect is time's abusing,
They and beauty are but lent you;
Take the one and keep the other;
Love keeps fresh what age doth smother;
Beauty gone you will repent you.

'Twill be said when ye have proved,
Never swains more truly loved:
Oh then fly all nice behaviour!
Pity fain would (as her duty)
Be attending still on Beauty,
Let her not be out of favour.

From Britannia's Pastorals.

    Here comes a lusty wooer,
        My a dildin, my a daldin;
    Here comes a lusty wooer,
        Lily bright and shine a'.

    Pray, who do you woo,
        My a dildin, my a daldin?
    Pray, who do you woo,
        Lily bright and shine a'?

    For your fairest daughter,
        My a dildin, my a daldin;
    For your fairest daughter,
        Lily bright and shine a'.

    Then there she is for you,
        My a dildin, my a daldin;
    Then there she is for you,
        Lily bright and shine a'.

Come, my fine cat, to my amorous heart;
Please let your claws be concealed.
And let me plunge into your beautiful eyes,
Coalescence of agate and steel.

When my leisurely fingers are stroking your head
And your body's elasticity,
And my hand becomes drunk with the pleasure it finds
In the feel of electricity,

My woman comes into my mind. Her regard
Like your own, my agreeable beast,
Is deep and is cold, and it splits like a spear,

And, from her head to her feet,
A subtle and dangerous air of perfume
Floats always around her brown skin.

(From the French of Stéphane Mallarmé.)


I would immortalize these nymphs: so bright
Their sunlit colouring, so airy light,
It floats like drowsing down. Loved I a dream?
My doubts, born of oblivious darkness, seem
A subtle tracery of branches grown
The tree's true self - proving that I have known
No triumph, but the shadow of a rose.
But think. These nymphs, their loveliness ... suppose
They bodied forth your senses' fabulous thirst?
Illusion! which the blue eyes of the first,
As cold and chaste as is the weeping spring,
Beget: the other, sighing, passioning,
Is she the wind, warm in your fleece at noon?
No, through this quiet, when a weary swoon
Crushes and chokes the latest faint essay
Of morning, cool against the encroaching day,
There is n...

Fashion! Lovely Dame!
Pledge in sparkling wine!
Let us add her name
To the Muses' nine!

Though the lovely Nin
All should pass away
Why should Woman pine,
If but Fashion stay?

Tho' the Muses' lore
Molder on the shelf,
Still may She adore
In Fashion's glass--Herself.

I spread a scanty board too late;
The old-time guests for whom I wait
Come few and slow, methinks, to-day.
Ah! who could hear my messages
Across the dim unsounded seas
On which so many have sailed away!

Come, then, old friends, who linger yet,
And let us meet, as we have met,
Once more beneath this low sunshine;
And grateful for the good we’ve known,
The riddles solved, the ills outgrown,
Shake hands upon the border line.

The favor, asked too oft before,
From your indulgent ears, once more
I crave, and, if belated lays
To slower, feebler measures move,
The silent, sympathy of love
To me is dearer now than praise.

And ye, O younger friends, for whom
My hearth and heart keep open room,
Come smiling through the shadows long,<...