Hast thou from the caves of Golconda, a gem
Pure as the ice-drop that froze on the mountain?
Bright as the humming-bird's green diadem,
When it flutters in sun-beams that shine through a fountain?

Hast thou a goblet for dark sparkling wine?
That goblet right heavy, and massy, and gold?
And splendidly mark'd with the story divine
Of Armida the fair, and Rinaldo the bold?

Hast thou a steed with a mane richly flowing?
Hast thou a sword that thine enemy's smart is?
Hast thou a trumpet rich melodies blowing?
And wear'st thou the shield of the fam’d Britomartis?

What is it that hangs from thy shoulder, so brave,
Embroidered with many a spring peering flower?
Is it a scarf that thy fair lady gave?
And hastest thou now to that fair lady's bower?

For you, I could forget the gay
Delirium of merriment,
And let my laughter die away
In endless silence of content.
    I could forget, for your dear sake,
    The utter emptiness and ache
    Of every loss I ever knew. -
    What could I not forget for you?

I could forget the just deserts
Of mine own sins, and so erase
The tear that burns, the smile that hurts,
And all that mars or masks my face.
    For your fair sake I could forget
    The bonds of life that chafe and fret,
    Nor care if death were false or true. -
    What could I not forget for you?

What could I not forget? Ah me!
One thing, I know, would still abide
Forever in my memory,
Though all of love were lost beside -
    I yet would feel how first the wine
  ...

LEUCONOE, cease presumptuous to inquire
    Of grave Diviner, if successive years
Onward shall roll, ere yet the funeral pyre,
    For thee and me, the hand of Friendship rears!
Ah rather meet, with gay and vacant brow,
Whatever youth, and time, health, love, and fate allow;

If many winters on the naked trees
    Drop in our sight the paly wreaths of frost,
Or this for us the last, that from the seas
    Hurls the loud flood on the resounding coast. -
Short since thou know'st the longest vital line,
Nurse the near hope, and pour the rosy wine.

E'en while we speak our swiftly-passing Youth
    Stretches its wing to cold Oblivion's shore;
Then shall the Future terrify, or sooth,
    Whose secrets no vain foresight can explore?
Th...

God's said our hearts to harden then,
Whenas His grace not supples men.

The warm sun dreams in the dust, the warm sun falls
On bright red roofs and walls;
The trees in the park exhale a ghost of rain;
We go from door to door in the streets again,
Talking, laughing, dreaming, turning our faces,
Recalling other times and places . . .
We crowd, not knowing why, around a gate,
We crowd together and wait,
A stretcher is carried out, voices are stilled,
The ambulance drives away.
We watch its roof flash by, hear someone say
‘A man fell off the building and was killed,
Fell right into a barrel . . .’ We turn again
Among the frightened eyes of white-faced men,
And go our separate ways, each bearing with him
A thing he tries, but vainly, to forget,
A sickened crowd, a stretcher red and wet.

A hurdy-gurdy sings in the crowded str...

You may vow I'll not forget
To pay the debt
Which to thy memory stands as due
As faith can seal it you.
Take then tribute of my tears;
So long as I have fears
To prompt me, I shall ever
Languish and look, but thy return see never.
Oh then to lessen my despair,
Print thy lips into(the air,
So by this
Means, I may kiss thy kiss,
When as some kind
Wind
Shall hither waft it: And, in lieu,
My lips shall send a thousand back to you.

They pass through the great iron gates -
Men with eyes gravely discerning,
Skilled to appraise the tunnage of cranes
Or split an inch into thousandths -
Men tempered by fire as the ore is
And planned to resistance
Like steel that has cooled in the trough;
Silent of purpose, inflexible, set to fulfilment -
To conquer, withstand, overthrow...
Men mannered to large undertakings,
Knowing force as a brother
And power as something to play with,
Seeing blood as a slip of the iron,
To be wiped from the tools
Lest they rust.

But what if they stood aside,
Who hold the earth so careless in the crook of their arms?

What of the flamboyant cities
And the lights guttering out like candles in a wind...
And the armies halted...
And the train mid...

They're praying for the soldier lads in grim old London town;
Last night I went, myself, and heard a bishop in his gown
Confiding to the Lord of Hosts his views of this affair.
"We do petition Thee," he said, "to have a watchful care
Of all the stalwart men and strong who at their country's call
Went sailing off to Africa to fight, perchance to fall!"
"Amen!" a thousand voices cried. I whispered low: "Dear Lord,
A host is praying for the men, I want to say a word
For those who stay at home and wait - the mothers and the wives.
Keep close to them and help them bear their cheerless, empty lives!"

The Bishop prayed: "Our cause is good, our quarrel right and just;
The God of battles is our God, and in His arm we trust."
He never got that prayer of his in any printed book,
...

Come listen, O Love, to the voice of the dove,
Come, hearken and hear him say,
There are many To-morrows, my Love, my Love,
There is only one To-day.

And all day long you can hear him say
This day in purple is rolled,
And the baby stars of the milky-way
They are cradled in cradles of gold.

Now what is thy secret, serene gray dove,
Of singing so sweetly alway?
“There are many To-morrows, my Love, my Love,
There is only one To-day.”

Go, then, and join the murmuring city's throng!
Me thou dost leave to solitude and tears;
To busy phantasies, and boding fears,
Lest ill betide thee; but 'twill not be long
Ere the hard season shall be past; till then
Live happy; sometimes the forsaken shade
Remembering, and these trees now left to fade;
Nor, 'mid the busy scenes and hum of men,
Wilt thou my cares forget: in heaviness
To me the hours shall roll, weary and slow,
Till mournful autumn past, and all the snow
Of winter pale, the glad hour I shall bless
That shall restore thee from the crowd again,
To the green hamlet on the peaceful plain.

I bring ye love.    QUES. What will love do?
ANS. Like, and dislike ye.
I bring ye love.    QUES. What will love do?
ANS. Stroke ye, to strike ye.
I bring ye love.    QUES. What will love do?
ANS. Love will be-fool ye.
I bring ye love.    QUES. What will love do?
ANS. Heat ye, to cool ye.
I bring ye love.    QUES. What will love do?
ANS. Love, gifts will send ye.
I bring ye love.    QUES. What will love do?
ANS. Stock ye, to spend ye.
I bring ye love.    QUES. What will love do?
ANS. Love will fulfil ye.
I bring ye love.    QUES. What will love do?
ANS. Kiss ye, to kill ye.

Sailors there are of the gentlest breed,
Yet strong, like every goodly thing;
The discipline of arms refines,
And the wave gives tempering.
The damasked blade its beam can fling;
It lends the last grave grace:
The hawk, the hound, and sworded nobleman
In Titian's picture for a king,
Are of hunter or warrior race.

In social halls a favored guest
In years that follow victory won,
How sweet to feel your festal fame
In woman's glance instinctive thrown:
Repose is yours--your deed is known,
It musks the amber wine;
It lives, and sheds a light from storied days
Rich as October sunsets brown,
Which make the barren place to shine.

But seldom the laurel wreath is seen
Unmixed with pensive pansies dark;
There's a light and a shadow on eve...

If thou anything hast, let me have it, I'll pay what is proper;
If thou anything art, let us our spirits exchange.

"Blessed are they who expect nothing, for they shall net be disappointed."

Aw once knew a chap they called old Sammy; he used ta gaa wi a donkey, an th' mooast remarkable things abaat him wor his clogs an' his rags. Sammy had niver been wed, tho' he war fifty years old, but it wor allus believed he'd managed ta save a bit a' brass. One day he war gain up Hepenstull Bunk, Jenny o' Jooans a' th' Long Lover wor goin up befoor him, an' whether it wor at her clogs were made a' his favrite pattern, or her ancles had summat abaat 'em different to what he'd iver seen befoor, aw cannot tell, but it seems a feelin coom ovver him all at once, sich as he'd niver had befoor, an' when he'd managed ta overtak her, he sed, "It's loaning for heeat aw think, Jenny." "Eea, aw think its likely for bein wut," shoo sed. "Awve just been thinkin," sed...

I had fed the fire and stirred it, till the sparkles in delight
Snapped their saucy little fingers at the chill December night;
And in dressing-gown and slippers, I had tilted back "my throne" -
The old split-bottomed rocker - and was musing all alone.

I could hear the hungry Winter prowling round the outer door,
And the tread of muffled footsteps on the white piazza floor;
But the sounds came to me only as the murmur of a stream
That mingled with the current of a lazy-flowing dream.

Like a fragrant incense rising, curled the smoke of my cigar,
With the lamplight gleaming through it like a mist-enfolded star; -
And as I gazed, the vapor like a curtain rolled away,
With a sound of bells that tinkled, and the clatter of a sleigh.

And in a vision, painted like a pi...

There was a sound of music low--
    An undertone of laughter;
The song was done, and can't you guess
    The words that followed after?

Like autumn leaves sometimes they fall--
    The words that burn and falter;
And is it true they too must fade
    Upon Love's sacred alter?

From memory each one of us
    Can cull some sweetest treasure;
Yet golden days, like golden leaves,
    Give pain as well as pleasure.

There was a sound of music low--
    An undertone of laughter:
The sun was gone--yet heaven knew
    The stars that followed after.

Look from thy lattice, love--
    Listen to me!
The cool, balmy breeze
    Is abroad on the sea!
The moon, like a queen,
    Roams her realms above,
And naught is awake
    But the spirit of love.
Ere morn's golden light
    Tips the hills with its ray,
Away o'er the waters--
    Away and away!
Then look from thy lattice, love--
    Listen to me.
While the moon lights the sky,
    And the breeze curls the sea!
Look from thy lattice, love--
    Listen to me!
In the voyage of life,
    Love our pilot will be!
He'll sit at the helm
    Wherever we rove,
And steer by the load-star
    He kindled above!
His gem-girdled shallop
    Will cut the bright spray,
Or skim, like a bird,
    O'er the waters away!
T...

Written on the news of the death of Lord Leighton
A light has passed that never shall pass away,
A sun has set whose rays are unquelled of night.
The loyal grace, the courtesy bright as day,
The strong sweet radiant spirit of life and light
That shone and smiled and lightened on all men's sight,
The kindly life whose tune was the tune of May,
For us now dark, for love and for fame is bright.
Nay, not for us that live as the fen-fires live,
As stars that shoot and shudder with life and die,
Can death make dark that lustre of life, or give
The grievous gift of trust in oblivion's lie.
Days dear and far death touches, and draws them nigh,
And bids the grief that broods on their graves forgive
The day that seems to mock them as clouds that fly.
If life be life more fai...