La vida es un hospital en el que cada enfermo está poseído por el deseo de cambiar de cama. Éste querría padecer junto a la estufa y aquél cree que se curaría frente a la ventana.
A mí me parece que estaría bien allí donde no estoy, y esa idea de mudanza es una de las que discuto sin cesar con mi alma.
«Dime, alma mía, pobre alma enfriada, ¿qué te parecería vivir en Lisboa? Allí...
Where hudson’s wave o’er silvery sands
Winds through the hills afar,
Old Cronest like a monarch stands,
Crowned with a single star!
And there, amid the billowy swells
Of rock-ribbed, cloud-capped earth,
My fair and gentle Ida dwells,
A nymph of mountain-birth.
The snow-flake that the cliff receives,
The...
Where helen sits, the darkness is so deep,
No golden sunbeam strikes athwart the gloom;
No mother’s smile, no glance of loving eyes,
Lightens the shadow of that lonely room.
Yet the clear whiteness of her radiant soul
Decks the dim walls, like angel vestments shed.
The lovely light of holy innocence
Shines like a halo round her...
“se dio ti lasci, lettor, prender frutto
Di tua lezione.”
Where Helen comes, as falls the dew,
Where Helen comes Peace cometh too!
From out the golden, western lands,
White lilies blooming in her lands,
A light of beauty in her face,
She passeth on with nameless grace.
Before her fly the shades of life—
The darking, wheeling bats of strife—
They flee her very garments’ stir,
And...
Ask me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose;
For in your beauty’s orient deep,
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.
Ask me no more whither do stray
The golden atoms of the day;
For in pure love heaven did prepare
Those powders to enrich your hair.
Ask me no more whither doth haste
The...
“where are you going, my pretty maid?”
“I am going a-milking, sir,” she said.
“May I go with you, my pretty maid?”
“You ’re kindly welcome, sir,” she said.
“What is your father, my pretty maid?”
“My father ’s a farmer, sir,” she said.
“What is your fortune, my pretty maid?”
“My face is my fortune, sir,” she said.
“Then I won’t...
Oh! where do fairies hide their heads,
When snow lies on the hills,
When frost has spoiled their mossy beds,
And crystallized their rills?
Beneath the moon they cannot trip
In circles o’er the plain;
And draughts of dew they cannot sip,
Till green leaves come again.
Perhaps, in small, blue diving-bells
They...
Where lies the land to which the ship would go?
Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know.
And where the land she travels from? Away,
Far, far behind, is all that they can say.
On sunny noons upon the deck’s smooth face,
Linked arm in arm, how pleasant here to pace!
Or o’er the stern reclining, watch below
The foaming wake far widening as...
How little recks it where men lie,
When once the moment’s past
In which the dim and glazing eye
Has looked on earth its last,—
Whether beneath the sculptured urn
The coffined form shall rest,
Or in its nakedness return
Back to its mother’s breast!
Death is a common friend or foe,
As different men may hold,...
