There in his room, whene’er the moon looks in,
And silvers now a shell, and now a fin,
And o’er his chart glides like an argosy,
Quiet and old sits he.
Danger! he hath grown homesick for thy smile.
Where hidest thou the while, heart’s boast,
...
|
I try to knead and spin, but my life is low the while. The shower-stricken earth, the earth-colored streams,... |
Good oars, for Arnold’s sake, Be less than boat or bird, |
Holy of England! since my light is short |
Such natural debts of love our Oxford knows, |
True love’s own talisman, which here Chief miracle of theme and touch |
I hear in my heart, I hear in its ominous pulses, Let cowards and laggards fall back! but alert to the saddle, |
Are favoring ladies above thee? All the sea is a lawn in our country; |
I would unto my fair restore Ah, say how winds in flooding grass |
High above hate I dwell: |