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...
John Albee
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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... -
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... -
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... -
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...