Who drives the horses of the sun
Shall lord it but a day;
Better the lowly deed were done,
And kept the humble way.
The rust will find the sword of fame,
The dust will hide the crown;
Ay, none shall nail so high his name
Time will not...
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Lean close and set thine ear against the bark;
Then tell me what faint, murmurous sounds are heard:
Hath not the oak stored up the song of bird,
Whisper of wind and rain-lisp? Ay, and hark!
The shadowy elves that fret the summer dark,
With clash of horny...
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The gray waves rock against the gray skyline,
And break complaining on the long gray sand,
Here where I sit, who cannot understand
Their voice of pain, nor this dumb pain of mine;
For I, who thought to fare till my days end,
Armed sorrow-proof in...
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The Heart soars up like a bird
From a nest of care;
Up, up to a larger sky,
To a softer air.
No eye can measure its flight
And no hand can tame;
It mounts in beauty and light,
In music and flame.
Of all the changes of Time...
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Who drives the horses of the sun
Shall lord it but a day;
Better the lowly deed were done,
And kept the humble way.
The rust will find the sword of fame,
The dust will hide the crown;
Ay, none shall nail so high his name
Time will not...
|
From “Philip Van Artevelde”
THE HEART of man, walk in which way it will,
Sequestered or frequented, smooth or rough,
Down the deep valleys amongst tinkling flocks,
Or mid the clang of trumpets and the march
Of clattering ordnance, still must have its halt,...
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If stores of dry and learnèd lore we gain,
We keep them in the memory of the brain;
Names, things, and facts,—whate’er we knowledge call,—
There is the common ledger for them all;
And images on this cold surface traced
Make slight impression, and are soon...
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When Delia on the plain appears,
Awed by a thousand tender fears,
I would approach, but dare not move;—
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.
Whene’er she speaks, my ravished ear
No other voice than hers can hear;
No other wit but hers approve;—...
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’VOURNEEN, when your days were bright,
Never an eye did I dare to lift to you,
But now, in your fortune’s blight,
False ones are flying in sunshine that knew you;
But still on one welcome true rely,
Tho’ the crops may fail, and the cow go dry,...
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I Prithee send me back my heart,
Since I cannot have thine;
For if from yours you will not part,
Why then shouldst thou have mine?
Yet, now I think on ’t, let it lie;
To find it were in vain;
For thou ’st a thief in either eye
...
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