Sainted Juliet! dearest name!If to love be life alone,Divinest Juliet,I love thee, and live; and yetLove unreturned is like the fragrant flameFolding the slaughter of the sacrificeOffered to gods upon an altarthrone;My heart is lighted at thine eyes,Changed into fire,…
His eyes in eclipse, Pale-cold his lips, The light of his hopes unfed, Mute his tongue, His bow unstrung With the tears he hath shed, Backward drooping his graceful head, Love is dead: His last arrow is sped; He hath…
O god! my God! have mercy now.I faint, I fall. Men say that ThouDidst die for me, for such as me,Patient of ill, and death, and scorn,And that my sin was as a thornAmong the thorns that girt Thy brow,Wounding…
I am any man’s suitor,If any will be my tutor:Some say this life is pleasant,Some think it speedeth fast:In time there is no present,In eternity no future,In eternity no past.We laugh, we cry, we are born, we die,Who will riddle…
Reprinted in Collected Works among ‘Juvenilia’, with title altered to ‘Leonine Elegiacs’. The only alterations made in the text were “wood-dove” for “turtle,” and the substitution of “or” for “and” in the last line but one. Lowflowing breezes are roaming…
Come not, when I am dead,To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave,To trample round my fallen head,And vex the unhappy dust thou wouldst not save.There let the wind sweep and the plover cry;But thou, go by. Child, if it…
1 I had a vision when the night was late:A youth came riding toward a palace-gate.He rode a horse with wings, that would have flown,[1]But that his heavy rider kept him down.And from the palace came a child of sin,And…
Her arms across her breast she laid;She was more fair than words can say:Bare-footed came the beggar maidBefore the king Cophetua.In robe and crown the king stept down,To meet and greet her on her way:“It is no wonder,” said the lords,“She…
Illyrian woodlands, echoing falls Of water, sheets of summer glass, The long divine Peneïan pass,The vast Akrokeraunian walls, Tomohrit, Athos, all things fair, With such a pencil, such a pen, You shadow forth to distant men,I read and felt that I was there: And…
‘Cursed be he that moves my bones.’ Shakespeare’s Epitaph. You might have won the Poet’s name, If such be worth the winning now, And gain’d a laurel for your browOf sounder leaf than I can claim; But you have made the wiser…
