I would I had been island-born.
I dearly love things insular:
The coral bed, the quaint bazaar,
The palm and breadfruit never shorn,
The smoking cone that cannot char
The azure of a tropic morn,
The dancing girl in soft cymar,—
All these...

As we the withered ferns
    By the roadway lying,
Time, the jester, spurns
    All our prayers and prying—
    All our tears and sighing,
Sorrow, change, and woe—
    All our where-and-whying
For friends that come and go.

Life...

With a ripple of leaves and a tinkle of streams
  The full world rolls in a rhythm of praise,
And the winds are one with the clouds and beams—
    Midsummer days! midsummer days!
  The dusk grows vast; in a purple haze,
While the west from a rapture of...

I am weary of lying within the chase

When the knights are meeting in market-place.


Nay, go not thou to the red-roofed town

Lest the hooves of the war-horse tread thee down.


But I would not go where the Squires ride,...

Poet: