RS, weary and brown, and blithe, What is the word methinks ye know, Endless over-word that the Scythe Sings to the blades of the grass below
Scythes that swing in the grass and clover, Something, still, they say as they pass; What is the word...
"Rise up, rise up now,
Lord Douglas," she says,"And put on your armour so bright;
Let it never be said that a daughter of
Was married to a lord under night
AD, with their eyes to the foe, Dead, with the foe at their feet; Under the sky laid low Truly their slumber is sweet, Though the wind from the Camp of the Slain Men blow, And the rain on the wilderness beat
Dead, for they chose to die When t...
ID April seemed like some November day, When through the glassy waters, dull as lead, Our boat, like shadowy barques that bear the dead, Slipped down the long shores of the Spezian bay, Rounded a point,—and San Terenzo
Before us, that gay vil...
AS one that for a weary space has lain Lull'd by the song of Circe and her wine In gardens near the pale of Proserpine,
Where that Aeaean isle forgets the main,
And only the low lutes of love complain, And only shadows of wan lovers pine...
This morning I vowed I would bring thee my roses,
They were thrust in the band that my bodice encloses;
But the breast-knots were broken, the roses went free
The breast-knots were broken; the roses together Floated forth on the wing...
Dead--he is dead
The rouge has left a trace On that thin cheek where shone, perchance, a tear, Even while the people laughed that held him
But yesterday
He died,--and not in grace,
Ah, mystic child of Beauty, nameless maid, Dateless and fatherless, how long ago,
A Greek, with some rare sadness overweighed, Shaped thee, perchance, and quite forgot his woe
Or Raphael thy sweetness did bestow,
While magical his f...
ON Calais Sands the gray began, Then rosy red above they gray; The morn with many a scarlet van Leaped, and the world was glad with May
The little waves along the bay Broke white upon the shelving strands; The sea-mews flitted white as they O...
Had cigarettes no ashes,
And roses ne'er a thorn,
No man would be a
Of whin, or burn, or bunker
'Tis thought Odysseus when the strife was o'er With all the waves and wars, a weary while, Grew restless in his disenchanted isle,
And still would watch the sunset, from the shore,
Go down the ways of gold, and evermore His sad heart fol...
MY Love dwelt in a Northern land
A gray tower in a forest green Was hers, and far on either hand The long wash of the waves was seen, And leagues on leagues of yellow sand, The woven forest boughs between
And through the silver Northern ...