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I.The fiery mountains answer each other;Their thunderings are echoed from zone to zone;The tempestuous oceans awake one another,And the ice-rocks are shaken round Winter’s throne,When the clarion of the Typhoon is blown. II.From a single cloud the lightening flashes,Whilst a…
The spider spreads her webs, whether she beIn poet’s tower, cellar, or barn, or tree;The silk-worm in the dark green mulberry leavesHis winding sheet and cradle ever weaves;So I, a thing whom moralists call worm,Sit spinning still round this decaying…
I.Come, be happy!—sit near me,Shadow-vested Misery:Coy, unwilling, silent bride,Mourning in thy robe of pride,Desolation—deified! II.Come, be happy!—sit near me:Sad as I may seem to thee,I am happier far than thou,Lady, whose imperial browIs endiademed with woe. III.Misery! we have known…
Rarely, rarely, comest thou,Spirit of Delight!Wherefore hast thou left me nowMany a day and night?Many a weary night and day‘Tis since thou art fled away. How shall ever one like meWin thee back again?With the joyous and the freeThou wilt…
Between the marble hills of LeonoraThe lucky machine tells the hours.With which hands she pressed her two senseless nipplesWhy should I touch with my finger, beloved, wrong?
I would not be a king—enoughOf woe it is to love;The path to power is steep and rough,And tempests reign above.I would not climb the imperial throne;’Tis built on ice which fortune’s sunThaws in the height of noon.Then farewell, king,…
I stood upon a heaven-cleaving turretWhich overlooked a wide Metropolis—And in the temple of my heart my SpiritLay prostrate, and with parted lips did kissThe dust of Desolations [altar] hearth—And with a voice too faint to falterIt shook that trembling…
I faint, I perish with my love! I growFrail as a cloud whose [splendours] paleUnder the evening’s ever-changing glow:I die like mist upon the gale,And like a wave under the calm I fail
I arise from dreams of theeIn the first sweet sleep of night,When the winds are breathing low,And the stars are shining brightI arise from dreams of thee,And a spirit in my feetHas led me—who knows how?—To thy chamber-window, sweet! The…
TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK OF HOMER. I.Sing, Muse, the son of Maia and of Jove,The Herald-child, king of ArcadiaAnd all its pastoral hills, whom in sweet loveHaving been interwoven, modest MayBore Heaven’s dread Supreme. An antique groveShadowed the cavern where…