Come to me, O ye children!
    For I hear you at your play,
And the questions that perplexed me
    Have vanished quite away.

Ye open the eastern windows,
    That look towards the sun,
Where thoughts are singing swallows
    And the brooks of morning run.

In your hearts are the birds and the sunshine,
    In your thoughts the brooklet's flow,
But in mine is the wind of Autumn
    And the first fall of the snow.

Ah! what would the world be to us
    If the children were no more?
We should dread the desert behind us
    Worse than the dark before.

What the leaves are to the forest,
    With light and air for food,
Ere their sweet and tender juices
    Have been hardened into wood,--

That to the world are childre...

Alas, the moon should ever beam
To show what man should never see! -
I saw a maiden on a stream,
And fair was she!

I staid awhile, to see her throw
Her tresses black, that all beset
The fair horizon of her brow
With clouds of jet.

I staid a little while to view
Her cheek, that wore in place of red
The bloom of water, tender blue,
Daintily spread.

I staid to watch, a little space,
Her parted lips if she would sing;
The waters closed above her face
With many a ring.

And still I staid a little more,
Alas! she never comes again!
I throw my flowers from the shore,
And watch in vain.

I know my life will fade away,
I know that I must vainly pine,
For I am made of mortal clay,
But she's divine!

When conquering loue did first my hart assaile,
Vnto mine ayde I summond euery sence,
Doubting if that proude tyrant should preuaile,
My hart should suffer for mine eyes offence;
But he with beauty, first corrupted sight,
My hearing bryb'd with her tongues harmony,
My taste, by her sweet lips drawne with delight,
My smelling wonne with her breaths spicerie;
But when my touching came to play his part,
(The King of sences, greater than the rest)
That yeelds loue up the keyes vnto my hart,
And tells the other how they should be blest;
    And thus by those of whom I hop'd for ayde,
    To cruell Loue my soule was first betrayd.

Love is maintain'd by wealth; when all is spent,
Adversity then breeds the discontent.

"O come, O come," the mother pray'd
And hush'd her babe: "let me behold
Once more thy stately form array'd
Like autumn woods in green and gold!

"I see thy brethren come and go;
Thy peers in stature, and in hue
Thy rivals. Same like monarchs glow
With richest purple: some are blue

"As skies that tempt the swallow back;
Or red as, seen o'er wintry seas,
The star of storm; or barr'd with black
And yellow, like the April bees.

"Come they and go! I heed not, I.
Yet others hail their advent, cling
All trustful to their side, and fly
Safe in their gentle piloting

"To happy homes on heath or hill,
By park or river. Still I wait
And peer into the darkness: still
Thou com'st not - I am desolate.

"Hush! hark! I see a towe...

To-night the clouds hang very low,
    They take the Hill-tops to their breast,
    And lay their arms about the fields.
The wind that fans me lying low,
    Restless with great desire for rest,
    No cooling touch of freshness yields.

I, sleepless through the stifling heat,
    Watch the pale Lightning's constant glow
    Between the wide set open doors.
I lie and long amidst the heat, -
    The fever that my senses know,
    For that cool slenderness of yours.

So delicate and cool you are!
    A roseleaf that has lain in snow,
    A snowflake tinged with sunset fire.
You do not know, so young you are,
    How Fever fans the senses' glow
    To uncontrollable desire!

And fills the spaces of the night
    With furious and fran...

Let's take this world as some wide scene.
    Thro' which in frail but buoyant boat,
With skies now dark and now serene,
    Together thou and I must float;
Beholding oft on either shore
    Bright spots where we should love to stay;
But Time plies swift his flying oar,
    And away we speed, away, away.

Should chilling winds and rains come on,
    We'll raise our awning 'gainst the shower;
Sit closer till the storm is gone,
    And, smiling, wait a sunnier hour.
And if that sunnier hour should shine,
    We'll know its brightness cannot stay,
But happy while 'tis thine and mine,

    Complain not when it fades away.
So shall we reach at last that Fall
    Down which life's currents all must go,--
The dark, the brilliant, destined all

With each strong thought, with every earnest longing
    For aught thou deemest needful to thy soul,
Invisible vast forces are set thronging
    Between thee and that goal

'Tis only when some hidden weakness alters
    And changes thy desire, or makes it less,
That this mysterious army ever falters
    Or stops short of success.

Thought is a magnet; and the longed-for pleasure,
    Or boon, or aim, or object, is the steel;
And its attainment hangs but on the measure
    Of what thy soul can feel.

Shall he, on whom the fair lord, Delphicus,
Turned gracious eyes and countenance of shine,
Be left to lie without a wreath from us,
To sleep without a flower upon his shrine?

Shall he, the son of that resplendent Muse,
Who gleams, high priestess of sweet scholarship,
Still slumber on, and every bard refuse
To touch a harp or move a tuneful lip?

No! let us speak, though feeble be our speech,
And let us sing, though faltering be our strain,
And haply echoes of the song may reach
And please the soul we cannot see again.

We sing the beautiful, the radiant life
That shone amongst us like the quiet moon,
A fine exception in this sphere of strife,
Whose time went by us like a hallowed tune.

Yon tomb, whereon the moonlit grasses sigh,
Hide...

I

There dwells a mighty pair -
Slow, statuesque, intense -
Amid the vague Immense:
None can their chronicle declare,
Nor why they be, nor whence.

II

Mother of all things made,
Matchless in artistry,
Unlit with sight is she. -
And though her ever well-obeyed
Vacant of feeling he.

III

The Matron mildly asks -
A throb in every word -
"Our clay-made creatures, lord,
How fare they in their mortal tasks
Upon Earth's bounded bord?

IV

"The fate of those I bear,
Dear lord, pray turn and view,
And notify me true;
Shapings that eyelessly I dare
Maybe I would undo.

V

"Sometimes from lairs of life
Methinks I catch a groan,
Or multitudinous moan,
As though I had...

L' oro e le perle, e i fior vermigli e i bianchi.

HE INVEIGHS AGAINST LAURA'S MIRROR, BECAUSE IT MAKES HER FORGET HIM.


    Those golden tresses, teeth of pearly white,
Those cheeks' fair roses blooming to decay,
Do in their beauty to my soul convey
The poison'd arrows from my aching sight.
Thus sad and briefly must my days take flight,
For life with woe not long on earth will stay;
But more I blame that mirror's flattering sway,
Which thou hast wearied with thy self-delight.
Its power my bosom's sovereign too hath still'd,
Who pray'd thee in my suit--now he is mute,
Since thou art captured by thyself alone:
Death's seeds it hath within my heart instill'd,
For Lethe's stream its form doth constitute,
And makes thee lose each image but thine ...

Fresh from piano, school, and books,
A happy girl with rosy looks
    Young Plowman wooed and won; despite
Her pretty, pouting prejudice,
Her deep distaste for rural bliss
    Or countryfied delight.

Romance through all her nature ran -
Indeed, to wed a husband-man
    Suffused her ardent maiden thought;
But lofty fancy dwelt upon
A new "Queen Anne," a terraced lawn,
    A city's corner lot.

Her lily fingers that so well
Could paint a scene - in aquarelle -
    Or broider plush with leaves and vines,
No more of real labor knew
Than waxen petals of the dew
    On native eglantines.

Anon, with lapse of tender ways
That emphasized the courting days,
    The housewife in her apron blue,
As mistress of her new abode,
...

Vppon this sinfull earth
If man can happy be,
And higher then his birth,
(Frend) take him thus from me.

Whome promise not deceiues
That he the breach should rue,
Nor constant reason leaues
Opinion to pursue.

To rayse his mean estate
That sooths no wanton's sinne,
Doth that preferment hate
That virtue doth not winne.

Nor brauery doth admire,
Nor doth more loue professe
To that he doth desire,
Then that he doth possesse.

Loose humor nor to please,
That neither spares nor spends,
But by discretion weyes
What is to needfull ends.

To him deseruing not
Not yeelding, nor doth hould
What is not his, doing what
He ought not what he could.

Whome the base tyrants will
Soe much could neuer aw...

    Written At Clare-Hall, Herts. June 1804.

Welcome silence! welcome peace!
O most welcome, holy shade!
Thus I prove as years increase,
My heart and soul for quiet made.
Thus I fix my firm belief
While rapture's gushing tears descend;
That every flower and every leaf
Is moral Truth's unerring friend.

I would not for a world of gold
That Nature's lovely face should tire;
Fountain of blessings yet untold;
Pure source of intellectual fire!
Fancy's fair buds, the germs of song,
Unquicken'd midst the world's rude strife,
Shall sweet retirement render strong,
And morning silence bring to life.

Then tell me not that I shall grow
Forlorn, that fields and woods will cloy;
From Nature and her changes flow
An everlasting tide of joy...

I Thank Thee, boundless Giver,
    That the thoughts Thou givest flow
In sounds that like a river
    All through the darkness go.
And though few should swell the pleasure,
    By sharing this my wine,
My heart will clasp its treasure,
    This secret gift of Thine.

My heart the joy inherits,
    And will oft be sung to rest;
And some wandering hoping spirits
    May listen and be blest.
For the sound may break the hours
    In a dark and gloomy mood,
As the wind breaks up the bowers
    Of the brooding sunless wood.

For every sound of gladness
    Is a prophet-wind that tells
Of a summer without sadness,
    And a love without farewells;
And a heart that hath no ailing,
    And an eye that is not dim,
And a faith that...

"I have no name;
I am but two days old."
What shall I call thee?
"I happy am,
Joy is my name."
Sweet joy befall thee!

Pretty joy!
Sweet joy, but two days old.
Sweet Joy I call thee:
Thou dost smile,
I sing the while;
Sweet joy befall thee!

Oh, I am very weary,
Though tears no longer flow;
My eyes are tires of weeping,
My heart is sick of woe;

My life is very lonely,
My days pass heavily,
I'm wearing of repining,
Wilt thou not come to me?

Oh, didst thou know my longings
For thee, from day to day,
My hopes, so often blighted,
Thou wouldst not thus delay!

Draped in shadows stands the mountain
Against the eastern sky,
Above it the fair summer moon
Looks downward tenderly;
And Venus in the glowing west,
Opens her languid eye.

Now the winds breathe softer music,
Half a song, and half a sigh;
While twilight wraps her purple veil
Around us silently,
And our thoughts appear like pictures,
Pictures shaded wondrously.

Quiet landscapes, sweet and lonely,
Silvery sea, and shadowy glade,
Forest lakes by man forsaken,
Where the white fawn's steps are stayed;
And contadinos straying
'Neath the Pantheon's solemn shade.

And we see the wave bridged over
By the moonlight's mystic link,
Desert wells by tall palms shaded,
Where dusky camels drink;
While dark-eyed Arab maidens
F...