Another night has turned itself to day,
    Another day has melted into eve,
    And lo! again I tread the measured way
    Of word and thought, the twain to interweave,
    As flowers absorb the rays that they receive.
    And, all along the woodland where I stray,
    I think of thee, and Nature keeps me gay,
    And sorrow soothes the soul it would bereave.
    Nor will I fear that thou, so far apart,
    So dear to me, so fair, and so benign,
    Wilt un-desire the fealty of a heart
    Which evermore is pledg'd to thee and thine,
    And turns to thee, in regions where thou art,
    To hymn the praises of thy face divine!

Though with gods the world is cumbered,
Gods unnamed, and gods unnumbered,
Never god was known to be
Who had not his devotee.
So I dedicate to mine,
Here in verse, my temple-shrine.

'Tis not Ares, - mighty Mars,
Who can give success in wars.
'Tis not Morpheus, who doth keep
Guard above us while we sleep,
'Tis not Venus, she whose duty
'Tis to give us love and beauty;
Hail to these, and others, after
Momus, gleesome god of laughter.

Quirinus would guard my health!
Plutus would insure me wealth
Mercury looks after trade,
Hera smiles on youth and maid.
All are kind, I own their worth,
After Momus, god of mirth.

Though Apollo, out of spite,
Hides away his face of light.
Though Minerva looks askance,
Deigning me ...

When dull November's misty shroud,
All Nature's charms depress,
Flinging a damp, dark, deadening cloud,
O'er each heart's joyousness.
Our fancies quit their lighter vein,
And out from Memory's shrine,
We marshal thoughts of grief and pain,
Known, - once upon a time.

'Tis then that faces, long forgot,
In shadows reappear; -
Voices, that once we heeded not,
Come whispering in the ear;
And ghosts of friends whom once we met,
When life was in its prime,
Recall acts we would fain forget,
Done, - once upon time.

Regretfull sighs for thoughtless deeds,
That worked another wrong;
Vows that we broke, like rotten reeds
Like spectres glide along;
Tears naught avail to heal the smart,
We caused - nor deemed it crime,
Whilst selfis...

I love you, malcontent
Male wind -
Shaking the pollen from a flower
Or hurling the sea backward from the grinning sand.

Blow on and over my dreams...
Scatter my sick dreams...
Throw your lusty arms about me...
Envelop all my hot body...
Carry me to pine forests -
Great, rough-bearded forests...
Bring me to stark plains and steppes...
I would have the North to-night -
The cold, enduring North.

And if we should meet the Snow,
Whirling in spirals,
And he should blind my eyes...
Ally, you will defend me -
You will hold me close,
Blowing on my eyelids.

My hart, imprisoned in a hopeless Ile,
Peopled with Armies of pale iealous eyes,
The shores beset with thousand secret spyes,
Must passe by ayre, or else dye in exile.
He framd him wings with feathers of his thought,
Which by theyr nature learn'd to mount the skye;
And with the same he practised to flye,
Till he himself thys Eagles art had taught.
Thus soring still, not looking once below,
So neere thyne eyes celesteall sunne aspyred,
That with the rayes his wafting pyneons fired:
Thus was the wanton cause of his owne woe.
    Downe fell he, in thy Beauties Ocean drenched,
    Yet there he burnes in fire thats neuer quenched.

To kneel before some saintly shrine,
To breathe the health of airs divine,
Or bathe where sacred rivers flow,
The cowled and turbaned pilgrims go.
I too, a palmer, take, as they
With staff and scallop-shell, my way
To feel, from burdening cares and ills,
The strong uplifting of the hills.

The years are many since, at first,
For dreamed-of wonders all athirst,
I saw on Winnipesaukee fall
The shadow of the mountain wall.
Ah! where are they who sailed with me
The beautiful island-studded sea?
And am I he whose keen surprise
Flashed out from such unclouded eyes?

Still, when the sun of summer burns,
My longing for the hills returns;
And northward, leaving at my back
The warm vale of the Merrimac,
I go to meet the winds of morn,
...

Se mai foco per foco non si spense.

HIS HEART IS ALL IN FLAMES, BUT HIS TONGUE IS MUTE, IN HER PRESENCE.


    If fire was never yet by fire subdued,
If never flood fell dry by frequent rain,
But, like to like, if each by other gain,
And contraries are often mutual food;
Love, who our thoughts controllest in each mood,
Through whom two bodies thus one soul sustain,
How, why in her, with such unusual strain
Make the want less by wishes long renewed?
Perchance, as falleth the broad Nile from high,
Deafening with his great voice all nature round,
And as the sun still dazzles the fix'd eye,
So with itself desire in discord found
Loses in its impetuous object force,
As the too frequent spur oft checks the course.

MACGREGOR.

Rendete a gli occhi miei.


Give back unto mine eyes, ye fount and rill,
        Those streams, not yours, that are so full and strong,
        That swell your springs, and roll your waves along
        With force unwonted in your native hill!

And thou, dense air, weighed with my sighs so chill,
        That hidest heaven's own light thick mists among,
        Give back those sighs to my sad heart, nor wrong
        My visual ray with thy dark face of ill!

Let earth give back the footprints that I wore,
        That the bare grass I spoiled may sprout again;
        And Echo, now grown deaf, my cries return!

Loved eyes, unto mine eyes those looks restore,
        And let me woo another not in vain,
        Since how to please thee I sh...

DALILAH DE DARDY adored
The very correctest of cards,
LORENZO DE LARDY, a lord
He was one of Her Majesty's Guards.

DALILAH DE DARDY was fat,
DALILAH DE DARDY was old
(No doubt in the world about that)
But DALILAH DE DARDY had gold.

LORENZO DE LARDY was tall,
The flower of maidenly pets,
Young ladies would love at his call,
But LORENZO DE LARDY had debts.

His money-position was queer,
And one of his favourite freaks
Was to hide himself three times a year,
In Paris, for several weeks.

Many days didn't pass him before
He fanned himself into a flame,
For a beautiful "DAM DU COMPTWORE,"
And this was her singular name:

ALICE EULALIE CORALINE
EUPHROSINE COLOMBINA THERESE
JULIETTE STEPHANIE CELESTINE
CHA...

The world was like a shell to me, -
Its voice with distant song was low;
But now its mysteries I know:
I hear the turmoil of the sea.

The whirling, soft, and tender sound
That meant I knew not what of lore, -
I dream its mystery now no more:
Its reckless meaning I have found.

O shell! I held thee to my ears
When I was young, and smiled with pride
To stand aglow at marvel's side!
O world, thy voice is wild with tears!

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But sad mortality o’ersways their power,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O! how shall summer’s honey breath hold out,
Against the wrackful siege of battering days,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
Nor gates of steel so strong but Time decays?
O fearful meditation! where, alack,
Shall Time’s best jewel from Time’s chest lie hid?
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?
O! none, unless this miracle have might,
That in black ink my love may still shine bright.

Ah, friend of mine, how goes it
    Since you've taken you a mate? -
Your smile, though, plainly shows it
    Is a very happy state!
Dan Cupid's necromancy!
    You must sit you down and dine,
And lubricate your fancy
    With a glass or two of wine.

And as you have "deserted,"
    As my other chums have done,
While I laugh alone diverted,
    As you drop off one by one - -
And I've remained unwedded,
    Till - you see - look here - that I'm,
In a manner, "snatched bald-headed"
    By the sportive hand of Time!

I'm an "old 'un!" yes, but wrinkles
    Are not so plenty, quite,
As to cover up the twinkles
    Of the boy - ain't I right?
Yet there are ghosts of kisses
    Under this mustache of mine
My mem'ry only...

The sun is banished,
The daylight vanished,
No rosy traces
    Are left behind.
Here in the meadow
I watch the shadow
Of forms and faces
    Upon your blind.

Through swift transitions,
In new positions,
My eyes still follow
    One shape most fair.
My heart delaying
Awhile, is playing
With pleasures hollow,
    Which mock despair.

I feel so lonely,
I long once only
To pass an hour
    With you, O sweet!
To touch your fingers,
Where fragrance lingers
From some rare flower,
    And kiss your feet.

But not this even
To me is given.
Of all sad mortals
    Most sad am I,
Never to meet you,
Never to greet you,
Nor pass your portals
    Before I die.

All men scorn ...

She dried her tears and they did smile
To see her cheeks' returning glow
How little dreaming all the while
That full heart throbbed to overflow

With that sweet look and lively tone
And bright eye shining all the day
They could not guess at midnight lone
How she would weep the time away

If all the troubles in the world
    Were traced back to their start,
We'd find not one in ten begun
    From want of willing heart.
But there's a sly, woe-working elf
    Who lurks about youth's brink,
And sure dismay he brings alway -
    The elf, 'I didn't think.'

He seems so sorry when he's caught;
    His mien is all contrite;
He so regrets the woe he wrought,
    And wants to make things right.
But wishes do not heal a wound
    Or weld a broken link;
The heart aches on, the link is gone,
    All through -'I didn't think.'

I half believe that ugly sprite,
    Bold, wicked, 'I don't care,'
In life's long run less harm has done
    Because he is so rare;
And one can be so stern with him,
    Can make the monster shrink;...

Corn-colored clouds upon a sky of gold,
And 'mid their sheaves, - where, like a daisy-bloom
Left by the reapers to the gathering gloom,
The star of twilight glows, - as Ruth, 'tis told,
Dreamed homesick 'mid the harvest fields of old,
The Dusk goes gleaning color and perfume
From Bible slopes of heaven, that illume
Her pensive beauty deep in shadows stoled.
Hushed is the forest; and blue vale and hill
Are still, save for the brooklet, sleepily
Stumbling the stone with one foam-fluttering foot:
Save for the note of one far whippoorwill,
And in my heart her name, - like some sweet bee
Within a rose, - blowing a faery flute.

A che più debb' io.


Why should I seek to ease intense desire
        With still more tears and windy words of grief,
        When heaven, or late or soon, sends no relief
        To souls whom love hath robed around with fire?
Why need my aching heart to death aspire,
        When all must die? Nay, death beyond belief
        Unto these eyes would be both sweet and brief,
        Since in my sum of woes all joys expire!
Therefore because I cannot shun the blow
        I rather seek, say who must rule my breast,
        Gliding between her gladness and her woe?
If only chains and bands can make me blest,
        No marvel if alone and bare I go
        An arméd Knight's captive and slave confessed.

Hark how the merry daffodils,
Fling golden music to the hills!
And how the hills send echoing down,
Through wind-swept turf and moorland brown,
The murmurs of a thousand rills
That mock the song-birds' liquid trills!
The hedge released from Winter's frown
Shews jewelled branch and willow crown;
While all the earth with pleasure trills,
And 'dances with the daffodils.'

Out, out, ye flowers!    Up and shout!
Staid Winter's passed and Spring's about
To lead your ranks in joyous rout;
To string the hawthorn's milky pearls,
And gild the grass with celandine;
To dress the catkins' tasselled curls,
To twist the tendrils of the vine.
She wakes the wind-flower from her sleep,
And lights the woods with April's moon;
The violets lift their heads to p...