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Fragment: 'The Rude Wind Is Singing'
The rude wind is singing The dirge of the music dead; The cold worms are clinging Where kisses were lately fed.
Fragment: 'A Gentle Story of Two Lovers Young'
A gentle story of two lovers young, Who met in innocence and died in sorrow, And of one selfish heart, whose rancour clung Like curses on them; are ye slow to borrow The lore of truth from such a tale
Why -- do they shut Me out of Heaven?
Why -- do they shut Me out of Heaven? Did I sing -- too loud? But -- I can say a little "Minor" Timid as a Bird! Wouldn't the Angels try me -- Just -- once -- more -- Just -- see -- if I troubled the
Field Path
The beams in blossom with their spots of jet Smelt sweet as gardens wheresoever met; The level meadow grass was in the swath; The hedge briar rose hung right across the path, White over with its flowe
It would have starved a Gnat --
It would have starved a Gnat -- To live so small as I -- And yet I was a living Child -- With Food's necessity Upon me -- like a Claw -- I could no more remove Than I could coax a Leech away -- Or ma
Time does go on --
Time does go on -- I tell it gay to those who suffer now -- They shall survive -- There is a sun -- They don't believe it now --
If Nature smiles -- the Mother must
If Nature smiles -- the Mother must I'm sure, at many a whim Of Her eccentric Family -- Is She so much to blame?
And this of all my Hopes
And this of all my Hopes This, is the silent end Bountiful colored, my Morning rose Early and sere, its end Never Bud from a Stem Stepped with so gay a Foot Never a Worm so confident Bored at so brav
Nobody knows this little Rose
Nobody knows this little Rose -- It might a pilgrim be Did I not take it from the ways And lift it up to thee. Only a Bee will miss it -- Only a Butterfly, Hastening from far journey -- On its breast
The Definition of Beauty is
The Definition of Beauty is That Definition is none -- Of Heaven, easing Analysis, Since Heaven and He are one.
To Penelope
THIS day, of all our days, has done The worst for me and you:-- 'T is just _six_ years since we were _one_, And _five_ since we were _two_.
They say that "Time assuages" --
They say that "Time assuages" -- Time never did assuage -- An actual suffering strengthens As Sinews do, with age -- Time is a Test of Trouble -- But not a Remedy -- If such it prove, it prove too Th
The Peasant Poet
He loved the brook's soft sound, The swallow swimming by. He loved the daisy-covered ground, The cloud-bedappled sky. To him the dismal storm appeared The very voice of God; And when the evening
Ah, Moon -- and Star!
Ah, Moon -- and Star! You are very far -- But were no one Farther than you -- Do you think I'd stop For a Firmament -- Or a Cubit -- or so? I could borrow a Bonnet Of the Lark -- And a Chamois' Silve
Fragment: A Wanderer
He wanders, like a day-appearing dream, Through the dim wildernesses of the mind; Through desert woods and tracts, which seem Like ocean, homeless, boundless, unconfined.
Except to Heaven, she is nought.
Except to Heaven, she is nought. Except for Angels -- lone. Except to some wide-wandering Bee A flower superfluous blown. Except for winds -- provincial. Except by Butterflies Unnoticed as a single d
Fragment: Beauty's Halo
Thy beauty hangs around thee like Splendour around the moon-- Thy voice, as silver bells that strike Upon
How far is it to Heaven?
How far is it to Heaven? As far as Death this way -- Of River or of Ridge beyond Was no discovery. How far is it to Hell? As far as Death this way -- How far left hand the Sepulchre Defies Topography
94. Here’s his Health in Water
ALTHO’ my back be at the wa’, And tho’ he be the fautor; Altho’ my back be at the wa’, Yet, here’s his health in water. O wae gae by his wanton sides, Sae brawlie’s he could flatter; Till for hi
Grasshoppers
Grasshoppers go in many a thumming spring And now to stalks of tasseled sow-grass cling, That shakes and swees awhile, but still keeps straight; While arching oxeye doubles with his weight. Next on th
Fragment: 'And That I Walk Thus Proudly Crowned'
And that I walk thus proudly crowned withal Is that 'tis my distinction; if I fall, I shall not weep out of the vital day, To-morrow dust, nor wear a dull decay.
The Poet's Death
The world is taking little heed And plods from day to day: The vulgar flourish like a weed, The learned pass away. We miss him on the summer path The lonely summer day, Where mowers cut the ple
Dying at my music!
Dying at my music! Bubble! Bubble! Hold me till the Octave's run! Quick! Burst the Windows! Ritardando! Phials left, and the Sun!
Snow flakes.
Snow flakes. I counted till they danced so Their slippers leaped the town, And then I took a pencil To note the rebels down. And then they grew so jolly I did resign the prig, And ten of my once stat