• See where the Thames, the purest stream

    That wavers to the noon-day beam,

       Divides the vale below:

    While like a vein of liquid ore

    His waves enrich the happy shore,

       Still shining as they flow.


    Nor yet, my Delia, to the main

    Runs the sweet tide without a stain,

       ...

  • September's Baccalaureate

    A combination is

    Of Crickets — Crows — and Retrospects

    And a dissembling Breeze


    That hints without assuming —

    An Innuendo sear

    That makes the Heart put up its Fun

    And turn Philosopher.

  • Exultation is the going

    Of an inland soul to sea, —

    Past the houses, past the headlands,

    Into deep eternity !


    Bred as we, among the mountains,

    Can the sailor understand

    The divine intoxication

    Of the first...


  • Several Questions Answerd


    He who binds to himself a joy

    Doth the winged life destroy

    But he who kisses the joy as it flies

    Lives in Eternitys sun rise


    ________________________________________


    The look of love alarms

    Because tis filld with fire

    But...

  • Severer Service of myself

    I — hastened to demand

    To fill the awful Vacuum

    Your life had left behind —


    I worried Nature with my Wheels

    When Hers had ceased to run —

    When she had put away Her Work

    My own had just begun.


    I strove to weary Brain and Bone —

    To...

  • Sexton! My Master's sleeping here.

    Pray lead me to his bed!

    I came to build the Bird's nest,

    And sow the Early seed —


    That when the snow creeps slowly

    From off his chamber door —

    Daisies point the way there —

    And the Troubadour.

  • Shall I take thee, the Poet said

    To the propounded word?

    Be stationed with the Candidates

    Till I have finer tried —


    The Poet searched Philology

    And when about to ring

    For the suspended Candidate

    There came unsummoned in —


    That portion of the Vision

    The Word...

  • She bore it till the simple veins

    Traced azure on her hand —

    Til pleading, round her quiet eyes

    The purple Crayons stand.


    Till Daffodils had come and gone

    I cannot tell the sum,

    And then she ceased to bear it —

    And with the Saints sat down.


    No more her patient figure...