A CLOUD lay cradled near the setting sun;
A graceless doom it seems that bids us grieve:
A Sonnet is a moment's monument,-
A speck within a boundless Universe
A sudden pang contracts the heart of day,
A wretched thing it were, to have our heart
A wrinkled crabbed man they picture thee,
Across the trackless skies thou may'st not wander;
After dark vapours have oppressed our plains
Ah, Sleep, to me thou com'st not in the guise
Ah, sweet Content, where is thy mild abode ?
Ah! were she pitiful as she is fair,
Ah, woe is me for pleasure that is vain,
Alas! my heart shrinks chill before To-night;
Alexis, here she stayed; among these pines,
Along the planetree-dappled pearly street,
Already evening! In the duskiest nook
An album is a banquet: from the store,
And now Love sang: but his was such a song,
And thou, O Life, the lady of all bliss,
Around this lichened home of hoary peace,
As on my bed at dawn I mused and prayed,
As one that for a weary space has lain
At Mürren let the morning lead thee out
At the hushed brink of twilight,-when, as though
At the round earth's imagined corners blow
Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones
Away, away! The ruffling breezes call;
Be it not mine to steal the cultured flower
Beauty still walketh on the earth and air :
Behind thy pasteboard, on thy battered hack,
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Beneath the loveliest dream there coils a fear:
Beyond the north wind lay the land of old
Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art-
Brook, happy brook, that glidest through my dell;
But half a man's days-and his days were nights.
CARE-CHARMER Sleep, son of the sable Night,
Clasp close my hand; this little space is ours,
Clutching the brink with hands and feet and knees
Come hither all sweet maidens soberly,
Come, Sleep, O Sleep! the certain knot of peace,
Cool, and palm-shaded from the torrid heat,
Count each affliction, whether light or grave,
Cover me with your everlasting arms,
Cyriack, this three years' day these eyes, though clear,
DAY-like a conqueror marching to his rest,
Dear Dove, that bear'st to my sole-labouring ark
Dear quirister, who from those shadows sends,
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Deep-wooded combes, clear-mounded hills of morn,
Dim in the moon wide-weltering Humber flowed;
Dismiss not so, with light hard phrase and cold,
EARTH has not anything to show more fair:
Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind!
FAIR is my love that feeds among the lilies,
Farewell, then. It is finished. I forego
For this I thank the Fates, that else have been
From night to night, through circling darkness whirled,
From the broad summit of the furrowed wold
From you have I been absent in the spring,
GIRT in dark growths, yet glimmering with one star,
Go from me, summer friends, and tarry not:
Green little vaulter in the sunny grass,
Grief, and the ache of things that pass and fade,
HAPLY Some Rajah first in ages gone
Happy is England! I could be content
Hark! hear'st thou not the pipe of Faunus, sweeping
Having this day my horse, my hand, my lance
He left the upland lawns and serene air
Help thou, but be not holpen. If need be,
Here, where last night she came, even she, for whom
High in the organ-loft, with lilied hair,
How like a winter hath my absence been
How long, O Lord ?—The voice is sounding still :
How many a year hath Time, with felon hand,
How many blessed groups this hour are bending,
How many times night's silent queen her face
How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,
I CARE not if I live, tho' life and breath
I dreamed last night that she for whom my days
I heard a Saint cry to the Sun-' Be dim.
I must not think of thee; and, tired yet strong,
I thought of Thee, my partner and my guide,
I walked to-day where Past and Present meet,
I will not rail or grieve when torpid eld
I would not dwell with Passion; Passion grows
If I could live without the thought of Death,
If I have sinned in act, I may repent;
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If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange
If in Life's Camp I saw my tent-door darken,
If I should die, think only this of me :
In a false dream I saw the Foe prevail.
In autumn moonlight, when the white air wan
In Christian world Mary the garland wears !
In dim green depths rot ingot-laden ships,
In ruling well what guerdon? Life runs low,
It flows through old hushed Egypt and its sands,
It is not death, that sometime in a sigh
It must have been for one of us, my own,
LAND of undying Winter, endless Spring,
Last night I woke and found between us drawn,—
Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son,
Leave me, O Love, which reachest but to dust;
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Let others sing of Knights and Paladines,
Like a musician, that with flying finger
Like as the culver on the barèd bough
Like as the fountain of all light created
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
Lone wanderer 'mid the loftiest heights of Thought,
Long time a child, and still a child, when years
Look how the flower which lingeringly doth fade,
Lord, with what care hast Thou begirt us round!
Love that is dead and buried, yesterday
MARY! I want a lyre with other strings,
Methought I saw the grave where Laura lay,
Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour:
Morn of the year, of day and May the prime !
Most glorious Lord of life! that on this day
Much have I travelled in the realms of gold,
Musing on Venice and the thought of thee,
My galley, charged with forgetfulness,
My heart's Ideal, that somewhere out of sight
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