Bend low, O dusky Night,
  And give my spirit rest.
  Hold me to your deep breast,
And put old cares to flight.
Give back the lost delight
  That once my soul possest,
  When Love was loveliest.
Bend low, O dusky Night!

Enfold me...

Roses and butterflies snared on a fan,
  All that is left of a summer gone by;
Of swift, bright wings that flashed in the sun,
  And loveliest blossoms that bloomed to die!

By what subtle spell did you lure them here,
  Fixing a beauty that will not...

She sees her image in the glass,—
  How fair a thing to gaze upon!
  She lingers while the moments run,
With happy thoughts that come and pass,

Like winds across the meadow grass
  When the young June is just begun:
She sees her image in the...

Pallid with too much longing,
  White with passion and prayer,
Goddess of love and beauty,
  She sits in the picture there,—

Sits with her dark eyes seeking
  Something more subtle still
Than the old delights of loving
  Her measureless...

Come hither and behold this lady’s face,
Who lies asleep, as if strong Death had kissed
Upon her eyes the kiss none can resist,
And held her fast in his prolonged embrace!
See the still lips, which grant no answering grace
To Love’s fond prayers, and the...

So love is dead that has been quick so long!
Close, then, his eyes, and bear him to his rest,
With eglantine and myrtle on his breast,
And leave him there, their pleasant scents among;
And chant a sweet and melancholy song
About the charms whereof he was...

How shall we know it is the last good-by?
The skies will not be darkened in that hour,
No sudden blight will fall on leaf or flower,
No single bird will hush its careless cry,
And you will hold my hands, and smile or sigh
Just as before. Perchance the...

Were but my spirit loosed upon the air,—
By some High Power who could Life’s chains unbind,
Set free to seek what most it longs to find,—
To no proud Court of Kings would I repair:
I would but climb, once more, a narrow stair,
When day was wearing late,...

We lay us down to sleep,
  And leave to God the rest:
Whether to wake and weep
  Or wake no more be best.

Why vex our souls with care?
  The grave is cool and low,—
Have we found life so fair
  That we should dread to go?

We ’ve...

As the wind at play with a spark
  Of fire that glows through the night,
As the speed of the soaring lark
  That wings to the sky his flight,
So swiftly thy soul has sped
  On its upward, wonderful way,
Like the lark, when the dawn is red,...