Though I am native to this frozen zone That half the twelvemonth torpid lies, or dead; Though the cold azure arching overhead And the Atlantic's never-ending moan Are mine by heritage, I must have known Life otherwhere in epochs long since fled; For in my veins some Orient blood is red, And through my thought are lotus blossoms blown. I do...Learn More

I vex me not with brooding on the years That were ere I drew breath: why should I then Distrust the darkness that may fall again When life is done? Perchance in other spheres— Dead planets—I once tasted mortal tears, And walked as now among a throng of men, Pondering things that lay beyond my ken, Questioning death, and solacing my fears. Oftimes...Learn More

Touched with the delicate green of early May, Or later, when the rose unveils her face, The world hangs glittering in star-strown space, Fresh as a jewel found but yesterday. And yet 'tis very old; what tongue may say How old it is? Race follows upon race, Forgetting and forgotten; in their place Sink tower and temple; nothing long may stay. We...Learn More

I leave behind me the elm-shadowed square And carven portals of the silent street, And wander on with listless, vagrant feet Through seaward-leading alleys, till the air Smells of the sea, and straightway then the care Slips from my heart, and life once more is sweet. At the lane's ending lie the white-winged fleet. O restless Fancy, whither...Learn More

When I behold what pleasure is Pursuit, What life, what glorious eagerness, it is; Then mark how full Possession falls from this, How fairer seems the blossom than the fruit,— I am perplexed, and often stricken mute, Wondering which attained the higher bliss, The wingéd insect, or the chrysalis It thrust aside with unreluctant foot. Spirit of...Learn More

Because the sky is blue; because blithe May Masks in the wren's note and the lilac's hue; Because—in fine, because the sky is blue I will read none but piteous tales to-day. Keep happy laughter till the skies be gray, And the sad season cypress wears, and rue; Then, when the wind is moaning in the flue, And ways are dark, bid Chaucer make us...Learn More

Not of Desire alone is music born, Not till the Muse wills is our passion crowned; Unsought she comes; if sought but seldom found, Repaying thus our longing with her scorn. Hence is it poets often are forlorn, In super-subtle chains of silence bound, And mid the crowds that compass them around Still dwell in isolation night and morn, With knitted...Learn More

Sick of myself and all that keeps the light Of the blue skies away from me and mine, I climb this ledge, and by this wind-swept pine Lingering, watch the coming of the night. 'Tis ever a new wonder to my sight. Men look to God for some mysterious sign, For other stars than those that nightly shine, For some unnatural symbol of His might:— Would'st...Learn More

The increasing moonlight drifts across my bed, And on the churchyard by the road, I know, It falls as white and noiselessly as snow. 'Twas such a night two weary summers fled; The stars, as now, were waning overhead. Listen! Again the shrill-lipped bugles blow Where the swift currents of the river flow Past Fredericksburg,—far off the heavens are...Learn More

Herewith I send you three pressed withered flowers: This one was white, with golden star; this, blue As Capri's wave; that, purple and shot through With sunset-orange. Where the Duomo towers In diamond air, and under hanging bowers The Arno glides, this faded violet grew On Landors grave; from Landor's heart it drew Its magic azure in the long...Learn More

While men pay reverence to mighty things, They must revere thee, thou blue-cinctured isle Of England—not to-day, but this long while In front of nations, Mother of great kings, Soldiers, and poets. Round thee the sea flings His steel-bright arm, and shields thee from the guile And hurt of France. Secure, with august smile, Thou sittest, and the...Learn More

When to soft Sleep we give ourselves away, And in a dream as in a fairy bark Drift on and on through the enchanted dark To purple daybreak, little thought we pay To that sweet, bitter world we know by day. We are clean quit of it, as is a lark So high in heaven no human eye may mark The thin swift pinion cleaving through the gray. Till we awake ill...Learn More