
Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Last Love [Canzone]
Love hath a chamber all of imagery;
And there is one dim nook,
A little storied web wherein my
From leaf to leaf is read as in a book
Percy Bysshe Shelley
'Twixt those twin worlds,—the world of Sleep, which
No dream to warn,—the tidal world of Death,
Which the earth's sea, as the earth, replenisheth,—Shelley,
Song's orient sun, to breast the wave,
Sonnet CI The One Hope
When vain desire at last and vain
Go hand in hand to death, and all is vain,
What shall assuage the unforgotten
And teach the unforgetful to forget
My Sister’s Sleep
She fell asleep on Christmas Eve:
At length the long-ungranted
Of weary eyelids
The pain nought else might yet relieve
Sonnet XXIV Pride of Youth
Even as a child, of sorrow that we
The dead, but little in his heart can find,
Since without need of thought to his clear
Their turn it is to die and his to live:—Even so the winged New Love smiles to
The Orchard-Pit
The
Piled deep below the screening apple-branch They lie with bitter apples in their hands:
And some are only ancient bones that blanch,
And some had ships that last year's wind did launch,
Sonnet VII Supreme Surrender
To all the spirits of Love that wander
Along his love-sown harvest-field of
My lady lies apparent; and the
Calls to the deep; and no man sees but I
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
IS Soul fared forth (as from the deep
The father-songster plies the hour-long quest),
To feed his soul-brood hungering in the nest;
But his warm Heart, the mother-bird,
Sonnet V Hearts Hope
By what word's power, the key of paths untrod,
Shall I the difficult deeps of Love explore,
Till parted waves of Song yield up the
Even as that sea which Israel crossed dryshod
On Christina Rossetti
RE'S a female bard, grim as a fakier,
Who daily grows shakier and shakier
Sonnet XLV Secret Parting
Because our talk was of the
And moon-track of the journeying face of Fate,
Her tremulous kisses faltered at love's
And her eyes dreamed against a distant goal:
On Burns
In whomsoe'er, since Poesy began,
A Poet most of all men we may scan,
Burns of all poets is the most a Man