When, in the miser's eager gaze,
His countless treasures lie,
Then most his coward spirit sinks,
With dread of poverty.
And when I felt within my grasp,
The treasure of thy love;
The insatiate avarice of the heart
Fierce with my spirit strove.
It...
Come slowly, Eden !
Lips unused to thee,
Bashful, sip thy jasmines,
As the fainting bee,
Reaching late his flower,
Round her chamber hums,
Counts his nectars — enters,
And is lost in balms !
Apparently with no surprise
To any happy Flower
The Frost beheads it at its play —
In accidental power —
The blonde Assassin passes on —
The Sun proceeds unmoved
To measure off another Day
For an Approving God.
I plucked pink blossoms from mine apple-tree
And wore them all that evening in my hair:
Then in due season when I went to see
I found no apples there.
With dangling basket all along the grass
As I had come I went the selfsame track:
My neighbours mocked me while they saw me pass
...
I have found violets. April hath come on,
And the cool winds feel softer, and the rain
Falls in the beaded drops of summer-time.
You may hear birds at morning, and at eve
The tame dove lingers till the twilight falls,
Cooling upon the eaves, and drawing in
His beautiful, bright neck; and, from the hills...
"Arcturus" is his other name —
I'd rather call him "Star."
It's very mean of Science
To go and interfere!
I slew a worm the other day —
A "Savant" passing by
Murmured "Resurgam" — "Centipede"!
"Oh Lord — how frail are we"!
I pull a flower from the woods —
A monster...
Are Friends Delight or Pain?
Could Bounty but remain
Riches were good —
But if they only stay
Ampler to fly away
Riches are sad.
Dark and rainy is the night,
There's no a star in a' the carry;
Lightnings gleam athwart the lift,
And the cauld winds drive wi' winter's fury.
O! are ye sleepin', Maggie?
O! are ye sleepin', Maggie?
Let me in, for loud the linn
Is roarin' o'er the warlock craigie!...
A great and glorious thing it is
To learn, for seven years or so,
The Lord knows what of that and this,
Ere reckoned fit to face the foe—
The flying bullet down the Pass,
That whistles clear: "All flesh is grass."
Three hundred pounds per annum spent
On making brain...
Arrows enamored of his Heart —
Forgot to rankle there
And Venoms he mistook for Balms
disdained to rankle there —