I would live in your love as the sea-grasses live in the sea,
Borne up by each wave as it passes, drawn down by each wave that
recedes;

I would empty my soul of the dreams that have gathered in me,
I would beat with your heart as it beats, I would follow your soul
as...

Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art—
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient sleepless eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or...

Poet: John Keats

Amarantha sweet and fair
Ah braid no more that shining hair!
As my curious hand or eye
Hovering round thee let it fly.

Let it fly as unconfin'd
As its calm ravisher, the wind,
Who hath left his darling th'East,
To wanton o'er that spicy nest.

Ev'ry...

I would not live alway—live alway below!
Oh no, I ’ll not linger when bidden to go:
The days of our pilgrimage granted us here
Are enough for life’s woes, full enough for its cheer:
Would I shrink from the path which the prophets of God,
Apostles, and...

A little while (my life is almost set!)
  I fain would pause along the downward way,
  Musing an hour in this sad sunset-ray,
While, Sweet! our eyes with tender tears are wet:
A little hour I fain would linger yet.

A little while I fain would linger yet...

I Would not live alway—live alway below!
Oh no, I ’ll not linger when bidden to go:
The days of our pilgrimage granted us here
Are enough for life’s woes, full enough for its cheer:
Would I shrink from the path which the prophets of God,
Apostles, and...

I Would I were an excellent divine,
  That had the Bible at my fingers’ ends;
That men might hear out of this mouth of mine
  How God doth make his enemies his friends;
Rather than with a thundering and long prayer
Be led into presumption, or despair....


* * *


He is a Cock would[3]

And would be a Cock[4] if he could

Poet:

I thought the Train would never come —

How slow the whistle sang —

I don't believe a peevish Bird

So whimpered for the Spring —

I taught my Heart a hundred times

Precisely what to say —

Provoking Lover,...

Poet:

I would distil a cup,

And bear to all my friends,

Drinking to her no more astir,

By beck, or burn, or moor!

Poet: