Enchantress, touch no more that strain! I know not what it may contain, But in my breast such mood it wakes My very spirit almost breaks. Thoughts come from out some hidden realm Whose dim memorials overwhelm, Still bring not back the things I lost,— Still bringing all the pain they cost.
Now dandelions in the short, new grass, Through all their rapid stages daily pass; No bee yet visits them; each has its place, Still near enough to see the other’s face. Unkenn’d the bud, so like the grass and ground In our old country yards where thickest found; Some morn it opes a little...
The wind blows wild on Bos’n Hill, Far off is heard the ocean’s rote; Low overhead the gulls scream shrill, And homeward scuds each little boat. Then the dead Bos’n wakes in glee To hear the storm-king’s song; And from the top of mast-pine tree He blows his whistle loud and long. The...
Come, walter Savage Landor, come this way; Step through the lintel low, with prose or verse, Tallest of latter men; the early star And latest setting sun of great compeers; Through youth, through manhood, and extremest age, Strong at the root, and at the top, blossoms Perennial. When culled the...
Break not his sweet repose— Thou whom chance brings to this sequestered ground, The sacred yard his ashes close, But go thy way in silence; here no sound Is ever heard but from the murmuring pines, Answering the sea’s near murmur; Nor ever here comes rumor Of anxious world or war’s...
Enchantress, touch no more that strain! I know not what it may contain, But in my breast such mood it wakes My very spirit almost breaks. Thoughts come from out some hidden realm Whose dim memorials overwhelm, Still bring not back the things I lost,— Still bringing all the pain they cost.
