======================================== SAMPLE 1 
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"And in blue ink he capers: 'Here! 'dam!
There! get away! The place is bad;
This lamp burns!" Ben he seizes,
And on the night's dark pages slips,
Quivers, and checks the eager lips.

'Bring it!' The ship is brought ashore;
The crowd goes with it. Far and wide
The tumult of the crowd is spread,
The sheet-wraith's voice comes up the shore
And clamours up the stormy tide.

Wives, long abandoned, long ago,
Long since, long since, were all too rude
To find a hiding-place below;
It's horrid in the very stews
Of Pharaoh, in this ugly wood;
For one black devil-hole he 'll spout,
And all his host (the devil-worshippers)
Will split the dozen, you'll be there,
Just in the middle of the street;
And others more from underground,
And others from the church and ground,
Will have to quake before the rain
Will prove a welcome, or a chain.

Long life indeed! but not in vain.
Well not in vain, in less than pain!
Our very joys are mixed with pain!
And let this day be half an hour
With lingering, melancholy train.
Hark! Hark! Euroclydon has set
The bell-goats too, they're fast at it,
And faster than the pace they keep
The minutes, faster than the wheels;
And, going, see the wheel go round,
And backward fall the men and women
Just as the opening ruin palters.
They "came a word" to tell the world,
And on their faces read the title,
Which says, that hell's initial heir,
Auld Satan must be quite forgotten,
For he was in King George's reign,
And twenty-four the next that's known,
And many more will be the leader
Of the astonished nation round,
All Europe's issue now to yield,
And purse them all in one black stave,
Shave them, or pull them out at length,
First of the race they were called in,
And now among a thousand men,
That have for centuries been numbered,
They take the time, all having done,
According to the prompter's title,
For every one of their succession,
There is a record, every member crowned
With his eight hundred cannon loaded,
They say the grand command is ended,
The rulers shall go down as dust,
And every man in the dominion

What are the laws? The people say
They are five thousand in the score
Of members only, like the rest;
While they have not been held in sight;
Their case they cannot well uphold,
Being with several other men,
What order would become of them
These dukes and earls, so long in store,
These devils themselves do take away,
And be the doom of public men,
They crack'd their whiskers in their sleeves,
Their noses being all in five,
So that the lesser would not look,
They did not break their teeth at all;
The doctors cut a wondrous deal,
Yet neither half so good a deal
As that of Scrope or of Macaul,
Could tell a thing so lively,
They gave a very pretty squint,
And twenty cuts across the plan,
And sent the cocks to be at rest,
When three rose spirits took their nest,
And not a word was 'understood;"

Of three who strive for crook or sheet,
From four pluck'd leaves and four large roots,
The south and east brought champions three,
Ringed in each other's arms were free,
With four white steeds behind them ride,
With good steeds running into place,
Then, as if lame, he toss'd a race.

Riding in arms, as southward you may take,
Yet you must turn, and run, brave gentlemen,
For if you turn, proud gentlemen,
The least of you shall lose the race.

The sons of England, England, proud and great,
From England were turn'd enemies to the state,
And none should England front against a State:
Since when was William Conquer and she fertile lands,
And a great war was held within her wide commands,

The English drew the sword, the King blew down,
And a fresh blood ran on through ev'ry tongue,
When William Conquer and she came among
The rights and lives of all the English reign,
Where Scotland reign'd, when she was own'd again,
And all who knew her power, and all who owned
======================================== SAMPLE 2 
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's strait.

We are come straight to be good friends--
We who have seen the world's broad track,
But lost to us, and lost to us--
We wait the call of each to help;
In the eternal bounds below,
Behind us, and beyond our view,
They bide but a few scant mile--
They will not stay till I am well--
They hold me close for evermore,
But all that's made for us they leave,
And every shadow that may fall
To walk with down-bare feet and hands
Together, and our fate be ours.

All faces changed for in that day,
From the crude bonds men used to break
They long to feed us, as we stray
Along the crowded paths we make.
I marvel not at morn and eve;
Naught but the boughs and swaying leaves
Wore for all time the shape of speech--
The leaf-bound things and words we teach.

"Wisdom supreme! but not for us,
Not for the dim and sordid days
Of dull repute--we worship you,
"For none may know or help--not none
Shall claim you homage and be won
"Shall pray for you and hunger for
And go back thither in the sun,
"And you shall come and live with us,
Here where the will found fitter ease,
Here where the trouble comes to all."

Not without promise, not with love,
I deem that I shall yet prove true
To this same beauty in my heart
That other people used to love;
"For in our pleasant bowers of ease,
And by the good light of this sky
You shall receive and understand
How there the times go by and by
And in their careless places where
The good things that have died are by.

But if I long for you and you,
Here in the little corner here
To watch the new light fail you,
I cannot but say you may hear
In what I hear--and in this year
There will be May forever near,
And in your place beside the wood
Where you and I together stood
And sat and talked the truth to be
Until our two souls grew one with me.

Oh, you'd not say what you thought about it
If you had fallen asleep with the night--
The real morning and dream came out of it
But not for me, with its whispered light
That how hardly you knew it, and doubt it,
And come with a laugh and pretend not,
And try to believe that it's made of
A dream and a world of long shadows,
And each with his reason on earth for a
Narrowly longing to think that you
Were to take the thing and live with me--

A year ago, the world that seems so splendid,
Now many months I'm back again for roaming
And am alone, and longing for it
Dwelt all unknown.
My dream was sad for lost and desolate
Where I was born;
But now I see the lights that rhymed in glory
Burn quietly out of wakening chimes,
And wake in rhyme.

No prowling gnat the prowling carmine breaks
From tombs of dun to lonely lonely isles;
All calm beneath the winds we flutter up
As if we knew we were not born for this.
Not all the birds, from piercing ferns and tangles,
Have ever told us of this hindering air
Where in the pastures herds in greenness trod.
Ah me, the unborn year brings nothing of it
On the old way we know,
Nor can it surely bring as lovely an answer
As when we knew!

Ah, love comes never,--yes, and numb looks are weary,
And longsome toil arises from the stream
To weep upon the pastures where all else is weary
And hope seems not to dream.
We shall not know, perhaps, these sad and sorrowful days
That are no dream,
For life lies far away, unheeded by the suns
Whose rays
Roll back the morning star; they tell thetale--
They tell of it to us, but still the tale
Are we to tell again.

I saw the little man who cried,
"Let go!
Oh, I have found my soul!" and died
A deathly cry.

When I have felt thy hand in mine
Came I in silence--I alone,
A silence, deep as thy soft eyes
And lips that met in happier skies,
So full of beauty, so divine,
So full of bliss--oh, I have known
All these!

My thoughts have found a music free,
======================================== SAMPLE 3 
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 air,
He plunges off,--'tis plain to know all truth,
But how this stingsome wood, this wounding horse,
Now like a charred stake crackling to the sand
Of whatsoever wretch can suffer more,
Than his head totters on? Who knows indeed
But noble Neleus' son was wont to burn,
And hurl him on the shoulder, as he might
(For that's his father's self, his patron's foe),
Had he but loved the king, or had not kneel
To give it to his king.

And ere he sprung
Across the plain, to view his manly form
Clad in the mine of all most virtuous sire,
To Hercules he gave the key, of right
To hear his charge commit, and sorely vex
His people with misdeeds, to drive them hence
With madness. Yet before the seasons came
He had a care to plant his banyan tree
In Lyoneserian arms,--so one palm's worth
Might tempt his parents from the lofty snows
And to the hollow trunk his person bind
With brambles, roses, osiers, twining reeds.

He had but one right to subdue the weak,
That he might make them mourn their many woes;
So all too soon, with thought so vain and strange
Of the full theatre to cross the stage
Of pleasure, and so cross to Corinth's side,
To weep for Turnus, all but him and Fate
Therefore he wandered to and fro, and thought
How for the horse his father would have died,
If 'twere not done--if now he had remained
Amid the maddening waves, all night, in tears,
What sorrow had he suffered, how he bade
Helpless Polyxena stay the holy rite.

Gazed at the king, the people thus bespake:--
"Ye would have worship to our holy King
Muse and Dominus, should he call upon
His only heir, Demodocus, or take
All heaven, our happy cov'nant."--With that word
They went and waited for the hand of death,
Hoping with mournful memory to soothe
Themselves of others, and to add a groan.
But all on fire for Turnus--for his mind
Was hot to follow his unhappy sire
And his chaste son, nor know what tears were spilt,
Nor what he bade, nor how to live again.
Meantime Apollo, from his chamber soared
A voice, as though a lark had sung to rest,
And on the topmost boughs an ash-tree stood.
Then, on a sudden perched a quailing deer
As if to set them free, and bade the rest
Follow him.  Roared the baying pack before.

Then Jove bespake the Lord of counsel thus:--
"Go, gallant bark! and bear it to thyself:
Nor to the enemy did he connrive,
But dared the battle.  On his throne he sat
(In presence of the throne) by Juno's will,
An awful satra, suited to thy maw.
Now must I battle with the seed of Mars;
Nor dream I beauty or I gouged hard
By my own eyes--I shall not fight the gods;
Nor stand the fiery sire to my commands:
He never could endure a mortal's spear,
But he that would offend my wrath shall slay."
With that he vanished from the lusty crew,
And left them to debate in doubtful plight
Of coming battles.  Through the middle space
Incensed the Trojan strength and angry words.

Wild-eyed Malaperti saw the unasked-for fight,
And shook with rage his peaceful temples.  Then
He sought, Leucaspis, sought the noble youths
With eager shouts (for one amid the rest
Slew him, and left him in the rear).  The host
Severing their ranks, and launching back the cars
Before them, to the woods and slayers went,
All that the old man had in his house,
Found void of men and horsemen, many of whom
Drave back and slain, and many left untold.

And now his blood was mingled with the dust,
His cheeks were purple, and his ears were rung
With uproar, and his mind was mixed with thoughts
Of battle.  Then (for on his mind was laid
That battle) from a hollow rock he sprang
And gave command that Teucer be not loth
To render back with this foredoomed assault
A Trojan hero, if so be that he
Should wage fierce war against
======================================== SAMPLE 4 
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That I should go astray,
And sleep before the mountains
And with thee make my way!

Take a leaf to fill thy heart;
Over and below
The leaves that will droop apart
Borrow all that they throw;
But come to thy heart, and thou
Art grown so dear to me!

Lully, the summit of God's mysteries
Seems far above us and below.
To be a page of human history
Is what I long to know.
For the love and glory of my mother
Shall have been mine alone;

And the old, old, holy faith of my mother
Shall have been mine alone.

My loved ones, long ago,
Buddha, will have ruled their young
 steadging to the gods, to come and go
And dwell with me at that moment so.
Do you know how it would end?
The shadow about me,
The flood ahead of my thought,
The wind under the rim
Of your spirit-swelling,
The trees before you,
The root-fountains above,
The plain before you,
The soft earth at your feet
Up-flinging its beautiful flower,
Will find a pavement in the dust of your garden

THEY laughed, poor little children,
At the blue-bird, the thrush,
While away the butterflies danced
In a flurry of rain.

How they thought you were happy,
They thought you were gay;
You turned with a merry mirth
As they talked about you,
"Do you know, do you know, little children,
How it's always the way."

Then they laughed and sang softly,
And the old birds sang
And the new come home again
In their telling,
Out of the ages,
They who made it wise
And had it and it,
For the little children
Of the long ago.

THE blossoms waken and beat on the stalk,
And the waves swell the song-birds' throats sing;
Each time they listen, each time they hear
A wonderful singing,
A wonderful, glorious thing.
In the broad-winged days of April
How beautiful the world was,
When I was little enough,
And when the grass was green,
And all the sky was blanched with swallows,
And all the earth was pregnant with
welcome,
For I was little enough,
And now I am old,
And my heart is well-nigh broken,
And everything is seared,
And I am very glad,
And I long for the little things
That God has given me,
For the love I shall give to you,
For the memory of things I shall know.

NOW the grass is brown and fresh,
And the last leaves curl and fall.
But in afternoons the cold
Rises, and the long days pass,
And the stout old chestnuts, lifted high
To the sun in amorous Heaven,
Fold above my head the gray
Warmless honey-weed,
And the old-time comrades come
With a shaking and a laughter,
That I love, and am immortal.

NOW the meadows are before me,
And I follow everywhere
The foresters, and follow them,
And my youth's old meadow fare;
Shaking off the grass to hide
Where they lured me or they led me,
And I follow, and follow on,
Finding it is pleasant weather,
And they lead and they lead me
By a little winding lane
Through the bright spring day again.

See the wild grapes on the blossom,
And the red fruit on the bough,
And the flowers so ruddy and white
Coming quick with the dawn,
Coming with the dusk's last light,
And the capers overhead,
And the fruit at their eaves undrowned
Sitting in clusters overhead.

And I follow and follow till the rain
Washes the redoubt from my face
With a widened breadth, I wonder,
And the whole bush overhead
Is as red and as still as a rose,
And I look through my eyes
To see a shape in the cloud,
A sunbeam suddenly,
And a voice, that seems to say,
"Lo, I am but a dream!"

And I follow and follow till the rain
Wraps all things round my feet,
And my heart's head lies with pain,
Sick with bliss and dizzy
Till the world seems but a dream,
Till my name is writ in flame
In flames that cannot smother.
Ah, the knowledge full of a thousand things,
The light that burns on a thousand hills,
The love that
======================================== SAMPLE 5 
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, for I kent
That I could sort it wi' them.

It set my heart a-flame wi' pride,
To see the siller siller,
I thought, 'As charmers use to try
Their tips wi' sklentin-trick;
I thought, within an hour ago,
I first had sat to wonder,
Thinking, "The sun had left the sky
For worlds of other wonder."

Then up I gat, with nimble feet
O'er flowers and thistles,--round;
And through the flower-beds, wet with dew,
Myself came flaunting dew.

My little Mad-Love, here I sate,
Under the wide redwood;
And, 'twixt the dark green leaves, I held
The swing of legs of wood.
The wind was in the east; the tide
Had got into the west;
All night we heard the river's din,
Its fall just lit the west;
And, when we climbed upon its brink,
The far-off elm trees crested high
With willow-wands of dry.

The night was in the drift; the clouds
Glimmered on every fence;
While 'mid the elm trees all the frost
Hot-tooth'd and mired we wailed
Like ships in wet wind-travell'd coasts
Left desolate and quailing.

But when the moon sank slowly down
I crouched and loitered hum
At what the catbird's golden plume
Flung through the boughs of hawthorn.
No flocks of winged seeds, or plumes
Of bramble-blooms escape;
Each sinceom flies, and skimming lifts
Its head, its billow to the skies
Of everlasting day.

O for a moment, ere it drop
On the breast of my wide breast,--
Its pale face, fringed with rosy fire,
Like heaven's own lightning-quest.
Dear child! I can no longer keep,
For now the moon is gone;
With footsteps slow I hear her tread,

The wind, that sweeps the snows
Of naked foliage through their sphere,
And rustles fresh and clear,
While boughs in sleepy disleaf sweep,
And trees like sentinels appear.
Dear child, the month is near,

When two by two,
And, slowly turning, chant the hour
In over-pream'd abode;
When at the church's outer gate,
Little we see,
With long-subjected boughs hangs down
The wild grass-bushes of state.

The garden in its maze,
As yet unseen,
With shrubs and hedges far and wide
Sleeping alone,
Is like a scene
Drear in the desolate homestead's midst:
The cricket shrills his song;
The moths that haunt the hazy air
Move with faint wheel-tracks o'er the snow,
While in the woods the butterflies
Stay wing'd to go.

Come, patter now the feather'd leaves,
While the pale dewdrops pour.
Ye see the kindly flowers thrive,
But dearest to the flowers,
Ye run among the sleepy leaves
In all the forest's solitude.
Then whither go ye, Winter, go!
Be rough as cold,
Unkind, though very near ye love:
And do not let me move.

The pumice is a stormy hill;
Lash'd with silver frost and chill;
And the lamplight's long and bright
Rainbow dew falls on the night.

Out of the buried sea I leap
And prowse about with fear,
And see the streaming world beneath
Like a giant of the dead;
The sifted mist is quenched in space;
The jagged clouds hang heavy and chill;
And the sea's mists are rising chill
Above the grey and waning sky;
And I sail like a phantom bark
That has long been hid from ken,
With vague and aimless fears o'erthrown,
That I fear not the autumnal sun
For all the mournful summer days,
If I be not as their grey mother was!

Lie softly in the cedar chest;
Over the cradle softly flings
The scrawl of a dead man's broken breast;
And the fairy dreams of life are o'er,
That we were born an hour before;
When shall we sleep in the cedar chest?
<|endoftext|>

TANOh! my heart is sick and wounded,
Cold and
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 and hum; the censers murmured,
Tears came down like flakes of dew,
Loud, and sudden, and sharp--
That is why I've wished you!

Plented when you and I were young;
You are always afraid of dread;
Well, we might look at you and flout
Our faults 'neath our own heads;
And once or twice ago we thought
Our first poor joy was past,
When somebody called you to be had
And came and bidden us fast.

Oh, the long, far journey to arrive
And learns by rote-paths plain and dell,
How easy it feels and easy to climb
Up the hill-top if one can tell!
You feel the path wind through the trees
And down the meadows throw your feet,
And there is nothing going to lose
Except to eat and drink and eat;
You feel that life has some eternal  cure
For every ill that you could fear.

For they who sell their souls to gain
In golden fields of endless ease,
Know neither pain nor disappointment,
They have no longing to be happier.
But do not think they've got this scope
That draws them all to heaven again.

I asked of Celia, "If I dare
You'll try the heart of Celia," I said,
"I'll try the laddies; they'll be my dead,
And let me, oh, I'll come again."

"I'll come and sit by the golden fire,
And tell them they would soon be there;
It is only the living scene
That makes Celia smile. They'll stay on here,
And she will have to leap, ah, smile,
And perhaps she has but an added charm
To make them smile."

Thus Celia spoke, and I did speak,
"They're all a pack of common things
When one has heard each word a book
That's like the language of the birds,
And starts to talk. I hear them groan
And hoot, as if in loneliness,
Babbling, but always hearing none.
One needs to hear each pretty throat
Re-murmur, speaking soft and low,
And once or twice to see each note
That's like the language of the birds,
And once or twice to see the toys
The grass used to be made to look
So softly and so tenderly.

When I was down beside the sea,
A child stood at my knee,
And all my other children came
And shook their curls with me.
Then, lulling in a bed of down,
They laid them down to sleep,
And with their naughty arms made their
Poor little pretty neck sweep.

The night is cold and the house is dark,
Lone and silent all the day,
And the wind keeps singing the shrill notes
As we go our ways,
Chattering, chirping, but never a song,
And never a cry of sorrow or pain,
And all the night brings the happy throng
Bringing people home again.

Send home the child, your peace is gone,
And to my father's house again
Bring the little brown boy;
Give him a little ball,
And let the fire glow
Through the painted window-pane
That stands in the garden,
And the little red house
Where the flowers blow.

And after that the little empty pot
Will be left in the earth,
That a butterfly may live, and live,
And the little world may come
And carry the smell of the fresh-smothered wood
Through the days of the summer.
And when the sun sinks slowly down,
And the birds are quiet and a-sleeping,
Why must the world begin to weep?
Because the good days have gone well.

There are many mysterious things
That the old world knows;
There are strange and many springs,
And the hill brooks flows;
There are deep grass and withered trees
Where the wind will never cease,
And the dreamers of the forest trees
Will never cease.

They do not know the life I pass,
Nor the deeds that I have done;
The thoughts that fill my memory
Will pass like some immortal dream,
But all the dreams will pass away
And all that was is done.

For there's a little house that stands
Beyond the stars,
And on this summer-evening's day
A pewter-pitted knife,
A paper-covered wall,
A piece of broken board,
And on this Summer-noon,
A barefoot boy I'll dream at home
About this little house.

And just this day a bag of corn

======================================== SAMPLE 7 
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-nubling--the wall;
The hanging wall and the gate of the world.
Yet some endure that its walls lie ill
Admiringly, and are not built again
For forms of Death; for their clear eye
Builds in the ceaseless moat of Time,
Where huge rains fall and the snows heap high,
And the gray storm-tost soul, that sways and swoons,
Is now more safe from the furious teeth of the world.
And, lo, as these are built of my clay,
Even here on the tiles of Eternity
I speak in language that breathe with my breath
More delicate than on earth before death,

And I marvel to look on them with eyes
As dull as the gloom of a marsh-plaiced fen.
And these, as yet, are not these of my earth?
Or, hast thou not heard, O fisher-folk,
The beating of hearts in these waters of Thought?
Where are the wandering waves and the glorious sun
That stirred the tide of the blood of the sea?
Where the tide of the world?  Where the wind and the tide
In a mystical rhythm of song and of rhyme?
Where the strident voices of earth and of sky?
Where the sound of the wind and the tide of the tide
Brake out of the ears of the senses aflame?
Where the heart of the hill-stream or the plain
Gone, in the day or in sunset or dawn?
Where the gorse by the torrent?  Where the plain,
In the heart of a darkness, arises, a dream
That stills all the turmoil, all the turmoil of day?
How many a story of days and of days
Rises on the dark wall of Time,
With its morning and shadow engrave
A prismy screen from a sun-baked wave,
That on Summer's great ruins enshrouds
The thunderous arches of heaven,
As, in Memnon's plain-shaded towers,

Yet the fates' thin voices of men
Stir in every one life anew:
Echo, in thine ears, forevermore,
Doubtless midst these joyless children of Song,
Lift thy lyres and lift the psalm of thy Land;
For the Spring of those royd-singing throats
Makes no land from the boundless sea,
Nor from out the dim and budding lands
Isses a man-of-war to roam,
All unarmored, and all unblamed,
And for toil of faith at last
War no less than the finer thought,
And for hope of profit and fame.

For by the high sea of old Romance,
One that wakes to the sorrowful swells
At Magellan's farm, at Agincourt,
Far over the waves of a mellow plain
Dumb ortsnean, rose the heroic strain
That teemed with tears and laughter and wine;
And other singers, with more of the heart,
That now shall surround the Poet, or start
A musical undertone and on
To the call of a bird, beyond the mere
Raptize, with a swan-winged ball,

"O soul of beauty,
Poet in thought,
Ah, set me apart
From the light and the centre, far, far
From the light and the centre."
But ever, like a star,
On to its own sunset,
Raying dark and afar,
All the world's mists apart
Fell from the sphere
That holds thee apart
So long in the heart
With the angels of love
And the thought of the heart,
That, sleeping or waking,
I shuddered to hear
The far-off voice of it make moan
From the leafless tree of it thrown
In broad leaves of the world alone.

In light as the rose,
Flecked with light,
Through the blackness the starlight shone
Far out o'er the hills.
All the loveliness that was mine
Felt the touch of the dear night-dew
Shall fade in a transient shine,
Shall wither away and be gone,
And the world be aware of the dawn,
The world of the heavens unfolding their finical
richets,
And the world of the sounding skies.

Through the veil of whose folds the moon
Burns a star intense
On the white horizon in cold apoge
Where the sorrowful planet-star
Burns and withers afar
The west star's fierce-plume's curling flame
Through the arrased windows of night,
Gleaming, kindling the void,
Shadows
======================================== SAMPLE 8 
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!  See, see, how thickly the wit,
Of those true witlings, is printed complete!
'Tis surely a curse to my great disgrace;
A shadow of sin, to my dear Friend the prize,
But you've cheated it all, and we cannot refrain;
You've cheated us all, you're us only to wed!
You lie in the dungeon and live to be fed,
And we'll never escape till the judgment day's come!

You lie in the prison and live to be fed,
And live to be fed with our food and our crumbs,
While we're running our tippets and paying our debts,
And never escape till the judgment day's come!
We are all jolly courtiers,
And we never escape from our happiness;
We'll promise to each other,
And you'll never hereafter escape from our woe!

When you come to die,
Every nerve and bone
Soon lulled in sleep,
Secure and free,
Sleep will seize on you.
When you come to die,
Every nerve and bone
Soon lulled in sleep,
Sleep will seize on you.
When you come to die,
Every nerve and bone
Soon lulled in sleep,
We'll still be free,
And you'll never escape from our woe!

When you come to die,
Every nerve and bone
Soon lulled in sleep,
We'll still be free,
And you'll never escape from our woe!

A woman sat in yon trim place,
Says she, "My lady, pray be mine,
Put out the fire, I pray,
Put out the Bible, I pray,
And I'll be the, lady, straight,
Up till the chimney stoops!"
The little brown wife said, "I'm sure
My darling will hear when I've come,"
And her husband said, "Go on,
It is only my darling, please,
That makes the kettle squeam."

The little brown wife looked around
And saw a pig, that was spotted and spotted,
That was spotted, and spotted, and spotted;
He looked as black as the sky,
And he said, "Dear me, don't go on,
It is just as red as the ground!"
"I beg your pardon," the little brown wife said.
"It is only my darling, and not her mother,
Who taught me to spin, and to shuttle the thread,
And now, dear old woman, I pray you,
Let us now make ready for bed,
And the little brown wife, if she can,
She shut the door, and she will see soon,
How I wish I was there, or she could!"
"It is not my darling," the little brown wife said.
"Oh, let me shut the door," the little brown wife said.
A green-hide pig, all golden brown,
Was passing merrily home;
He was but a merry thing, you'll think,
And he wished he was overjoyed.
He was glad his friends would let him roam,
But he only laughed at the pain;
He said, "I wish I could see him now,
I'll make a very merry train!"

A spinner with a clean green gown,
Looks at the family below;
But the family children look so small
They scarce can get through to a bone.
"For all that little pigs are stabled,
And all that little pigs are fat,
And all that little pigs are housed
To skin with asparagus."

A spick, a stew-pot, and an earthen pot
Are standing near the roadside table set;
But the little brown wife does not mind it,
She shut the door, and she did not find it.
He hung a paper on the table,
He did not think to cry or talk,
But stood and looked into the pew,
And very quickly ate and drank.
The goose that was to be forgotten,
He sent it to the beau;
The fowl that was to be forgotten,
He sent it to the hawk;
And so it was carried away
To be an old man and gray.

In a crowded Union Churchyard
What is happening everywhere?
Something in the sky above us,
Something in the river,
Beyond our cloudy screen;
Something that the whole world passes
Like a minute's breathing,
Lifting up to heaven's blue
Rank above the blue;
Something of the earth and ocean,
Tremble on the distance,
All too thin and fetid for the soul,
Far too thin and fetid for the soul.

And there's something in this pressure
======================================== SAMPLE 9 
========================================
 with good estate and many a pound.
In all the land there is a place for me;
Thou wilt not tempt me there to stay;
There is a woman with an angel's eye
That makes me stay.
I have no tears in hand;
And the plaints of it are all from me;
And yet I can not understand
The comfort of that worldly day,
Nor the joy of it; but, lo, this land
Bids me draw back from its antiquity.

All through the watches of the night
I cry with groans of anguish sore,
And all for her I leave not right,
Nor ask where death has laid me low:
But no! from that sad country I,
With steadfast step and noble eye,
Set my face full of charity
Upon the way.

The path is sweet to the weary feet
That it must often meet,
And the tongue of the thing that we hate is sweet
To the weary heart and feet.
Ah! had I known and had met my fate,
On that dark disastrous day,
When the iron man was my hated mate,
And I my foe.

O the woman! O the woman!
I do not crave to ease my pining heart;
I shall learn to live a second life
Before it cease.
And for that I am mistress of the sun,
And the stars above me,--they, the eyes,
The soul and the body,--all of them,
And all of them, have sinned and lied,
And yet I dare not even speak to them,
Nor speak to them, and they return not,
Or speak to them.

Oh the woman! O the woman!
As I lay sleeping at her door,
And heard her weeping and her sobbing
And sobbing and distress'd sobbing
And the silence of the night grew full
Of the dews of dawn that hung above
The garden door.

But the voice was still'd, and through the lattice
All things were still as a wide star.
And her picture still lives on in the window,
And never a sign, till the gray moon
Lights up the garden of the night
And tells them of the moonlit day
When nothing takes them from the sight
But the sound of the song and the dance,
The light of her beautiful talk
In the garden without on the stair,
By the hearth, and the empty room
For the soul of an hour.

Like a child who has sin'd, and has slept,
He reaches toward the garden,
And beneath the orange and the Cypress
The moonlight on his shoulder leads him
In green and silver charmed glooms
Towards the middle of the valley
Where the rivulets and the birch and maples
Stand out from the October twilight
To breathe their perfume
Over the graves where the dead have slept
And from the windows the dust and mould
Lay over them that never died.

The jasmine stars are humid,
The wind blows moist,
But in the evening twilight
To the pond the dead men rise
And collect about the roses
On the mound where the dead have slept.
The grey riders go on their fastest speed,
Drinking all together;
They follow a ban with loud and hoarse cry
To where the houses are shut out on the sky;
Or in crowds crowding around one palace-gate,
They follow an empty reticence.

The builders of vessels that suddenly burst
Are black with the rain in the streets they are lost;
And a blue silken veil of gray,
With a quietude of clouds across her face
They leave their track,
And are strewn with desolate streets.
The mist lifts dark and thick
Over them in dense and sullen folds
That are black with the autumn moon.

One watches the lightning flash
In the cataract of the wind;
The knife-blade on the heaving stone
Gives a sharp and sable shock
And with it incessantly
She forces fast and steadily
The moon's way:
They cross over the flaming rain,
And are strewn with desolate streets.

Over the sinking and tarnished rain,
Over the sullen rain,
The women wait in their discontent
Until the sunset gleams
Over the blistering steaming roofs,
To watch the ships come past.
The black men's thunder of cannon and gun,
The rough-faced men with their feet in the snow,
The tired men that cannot guess at sleep
And fear the dawn, for the dawn is cold,
The old with the battered heart.

Under them are grimy walks
That pass through paths of stone;

======================================== SAMPLE 10 
========================================
est use, and that those may thy strong trap not have
loose to thy hold!  But I will tell thee one and all, if thou
wilt come to me.  Tell me of our escort."

v.Course of the hapless wights thitherward the woeful band drew on
and on, which he at first had called them, wherefore weeping
their hearts with their tossing locks, they cried to their God in
to their shame; and their mouths were so full of guile and enmity that
the mother only made them happy; for she was a woman of great

their wives, and have no other care than they for that which
they said and flee.  Then they formed a terrible snake, wherein
are thickest, in the great gulf called and plunged him in the
earnest sea.  The ferryman could find no pass through the gulf
into which the serpent was drawn, and the boat drew back
into the hollow cave, when the fury fell from him.  There he
was living in the very body of Patroclus and of his squire who gave
the Trojans death.

Patroclus gave him a steeds to bear to his own ship, and the
horses to bring him to his own country.  He sent four ships of
them into the ship and all that way whereby he would go.

NOW when we had crossed the sea for the space of seven days, I
found the seals that have a hundred hands just off from the time
when any one or other of the other crew could see us so
wholly perish and how close they are themselves, so many and
So spake I to him, and he replied, "Tell me this first;
how are they all brought thus far from our own country?  are they
all come to a bad end, from the waves? or did some prophecy
or other manifest destiny of their lives make them forget
the ten years' separation knit them and betoken them to this
?"

which in evil hour shapes the hour as it changes, as a spider
draws an air when she seizes it, lies soft when the long
particle falls into the hand of one passing over a banquet.
And these too took their seats; but my father and my
mother went on board ship to consult the matter, and I, being
not a whit older than he, made a wait, and bade the
housekeeper wait on before the vessels themselves, so as
the harbour-men, grasping a glimmering oar, went on board,
saying, "Lo, we are oager, and we are come for the belly of
mighty Jove, to witness that which ourselves may do."

Ithaca had been on a coast in the Arimy parental, and the natives
were far the best of vessels, and their decks were lying
so thickly in the stern of the vessel.  Then Ithaca began to
bless that princely guest who stood in the midst of all his
gifts, so fair was he.  But Ithaca still stood with his
company, and sent twenty ships to their father Jove, who
dwells on Olympus.  Thenceforth, when Ithaca had heard of this
gift, they resolved to send the best of the ship to the
hands of Ithaca, and bring us their convoy, and send forth
again the loosened vessel to the city."

When they had thus fulfilled their mind, they yoked the ship for
their courses, with the masts and halyards piled out upon the
sea shore; then they took their seaman to the chambers of
Eurymachus.  They brought them wine out of a fair golden cup,
brought them sweet scented meat, and their eyes were filled
with tears and dust; for a dark cloud held over their bodies
their heads.  But Telemachus alone could fare without his
ship, so tarrying so long in his own house.  And Telemachus
bare his men to his own room, and they laid their places
ually aside.  Now there was the slaughter of the men and of
their women, and a din rose about the tables of the
foster-fatted herdsman.  The heifer bounded forward and
stared at the unwearied as before, but the sons of the
swineherd were feasting in their own houses for them.  Then
the swineherd could see the trees of the forest, and could
hereafter see them and mark them, for he bethought him to
go and lay his hands upon the good cheer set before him.

"Forth on this, stranger," said he, "fearing not the shame and
======================================== SAMPLE 11 
========================================
 me before the fire, 'twas when the race is up,
We won a chance to follow what, and find their chips.
I know it was for skilful fingers,--and for hair,
Also--I see the head and shoulders too and fro,--
Then some one says, "Good evening, ladies: take this oil,--
Thoughts turned like snow, like windy Christmas-chats too,
Pass the fire, cut out like icicles, and then,
One follows you,--why, I'd be better then,--
Have a good bit of a dinner,--and I don't fear
You'll in nor even abandon this.  It's most in town,
This very night, to find your roses gone.
I'll set you in a jewelled band, and you,
Ere many weeks are passed, shall have your death.
Yes, I'll have those who could, and have no fear
If I should die for love,--I shall lie here
Not to look back for once; since very fair
The sun becomes, the frost has ceased to bite
The last is better, though I'm strong, perchance,
Than my bad fortune's done.

From the close retire-joys of those days
When I was brought up with I much maintained
By candles buttered in the convalescence
Of unpermitted cigarette, such rays
Were no good instruments of disappearment,
Methought in that supreme arbitrament
I heard men singing, "Hither, thither, choir,
"And make you sing, and you
"Make music, be along
And pipe, and such soft notes and lute-like flute-like flute-like 
flute-like flute-like flute-like flute-like
And I'm grown up smart
And rough indeed,
Yet would much less, (however fond of songs)
I'd do it still: but I'm not in a mood
At what I'd do.  I am the sport
Of those who flung me out of life and days,
Not for myself, but for your own praise,
But for your mountain-way, your vales and bays.
Be brave enough!  For me, I've done my best,
To be your guide, your flower, your road's observant rest.
Here in this company
My sorrow I delight,
And joy in you.

I can feel, my dear,
My pains and fears, and hope
To know you near.
Yet here I am!
I could not weep for you,
And yet I'm blest;
I do not cry
For any but you,
You are the sweetest friend
I have in my way.
On friends I do not feast,
I laugh at a friend,
But the heart aches
With recollection
As though I'd fain
For a charm
To dream for aye,
I'm with you all,

The summer day.  How can I know
When the morning leaves her dun and bare?
How can I, between town and city,
Dare in the wayside glare hearth-smoke,
And see it while the country-side
Rings as the hivefives' honey-hives
From fall to empty honey-hives?

I fear the phrase of one who says
That I am when I've been on the way,
Afar, as if I'd fain been kissed
By others ever to be gone;
And that's my business.  No, I'm not
In turn a friendly word or jest,
But just my lesson's best,--
A living book that's best
That's hard to get,
And better still that's sweet,
Oh, best!

And I'd more heed of it, I swear,
Than how I'll read and scribble now,
And leave it all to chance, now this--
You lose it: take it, I'm your friend!
There's nothing for it like content,
Only a heaven that's meant.
Oh, then it does me good to smell
The water laughing through its shroud,
The smouldering, smell-drip heavy dew
Along the meadows dense and dun,
Blue in a moonbeam, fine and blue,
And if a cloud has fallen, near or far,
To make a place where breezes are,
A tiny world of lonely thought,
A heaven of merry hopes, a heaven of joy,
A sunny land of singing seas.

Oh, such is life, not quite so sweet,
If life be only as it is;
If there's a God that is to love,
If
======================================== SAMPLE 12 
========================================
ly, Jock and Bessy-Locks
To poor Cordelia chiefly owe a debt;
Yet they in Church-yard laid the scruples low
Which, if at frosted Kaub we keep it, know.
First, Jock, I put your Horse upon the fire,
And, if I can, put out both Horse and G ire.

By this Daye-tide the French return their way;
For, by this Daye-tide, which is more I say,
A Spanish eighteenth Crown is left in hand,
Which once was Thamis in the Ayre of Spie,
A more fair Idol, and a more brave seize,
Which now is but the valour of their Land.
For here their Right may safely rest at will;
And for their Country's weal I cannot fill.
So they the Ranks, and the Brothers rush on him,
And so the Ranks, and the Brothers rush on him.

Sir Knight, (for you are with me) know that I
Am Brave, and out of One as well as I.
For if one wear the best I sell, one treadleth right,
Whilst the other, like a Knight, doth all that's good:
On Man no felon no felon could be read;
What of the Ranks--on one thou must have read.
Of the Ranks--on one thou must repent to say
That setting English in disgrace and gore,
Because they robb'd us of a Knight of some,
A right good fellow in their Grand Ayre;
As the Ranks do then, that he the King should take,
Of men like these all but the most rich in wakes.

One pound of Boyne,^10 Sir Knight, it much behoved me
That I to carry on these Earls a Tragic Jament,
Inferior far unto that to countenances,
How dreadful to make Lady Elfinhart,
And to her own self might she and I compare
In vertues equal to a Crownes Lebmond beare.
But after, in a cloud, poor Cloe must likewise
Be placed on the margin of the Table Round,
And see if by the luckless chance you can
Have him uncounted and beloved of all,
On he returning will he chuse to goe,
For that my Lady, when she saw him so,
Did to the Front of that old Lyonors house,
Before her see a Knight all earlily,
With these Hirsuteous and Catch-'em, one of those
Whom the old King had made of Castlereagh.

These then, with pleasing smiles and carrols playing,
In the mid Chase before the Castlereagh,
Knew that a present of those Ranks was say'd
To this Dame Prouin, when to this she hied.
So on the hunt upwent this Lady Vade,
And with her practised eye survey'd the glade;
But when the Forester upshot her eyes,
She blush'd, and to her Dowager she cries,
"Good Father dear, and have you heartily
I may behold you well." Then to herself she cries,
"The Lady Fair is fairer unto me."
So thinking, reverential to the Dame,
From her right side she drew Sir Knight and friar,
And after him Sir Lancelot he espied,
On whom the maiden waited with such pride,
That to leave him he could not well enquire.
But when Sir Lancelot him beheld, astride
In his own strength and vigour, down he gan,
And to his side Sir Lancelot thus address'd,
Gan full of doubts, and holding high his crest,
"Lady, what see'st thou, Sir Percivale, with eyes
Like those which under Mars great Appelists
Have seen their King--nay, turn thy face away
As if to say, if this thy heart can gain
Aught of thy trial, and the man be slain,
Let him resign himself to mere pretence,
And he, thy servant, to the King of Heav'n
Will make the pretext of a pretext, free,
And by the King's permission do what he
Will partly loose, himself may freely go.
Of those who so have pass'd through warlike actions
Brave Guelpho blame the Knight to go into,
And that, as well as those who wish'd, he teaches
To go, and on a sudden down to sinning
In open field to die disgrac't with him.
And she, 'twas said by Richard, "Lord, the King,
If thou the
======================================== SAMPLE 13 
========================================
! within her place-box!"
"Ah no, you must not catch him, darling,
If you wish to wed with that sweet maiden."
To the chimney-top she brought him,
And the kettle called her aunt,
"Dinah, dinah, dinah, here comes
To the gate, this present morn,
Where you will hear a footstep, and see with his eyes the locks

He wrote this song,
"You have wedded your fair lady, your wife is an exile,
You never can make a long purse, or you can buy it.
Whether he's poor or rich, he has riches, but never
Can make a will for two, but one gold ring alone.
Then please to follow me,
For to give you freedom, then
To accept your wife to the issue,
And live free,

If you would approach,
Let the six that keep it ten times longer,
For it's better to be brave and true, than to tarry!"
I told you once a bargain,
And he refused to sell
All the money which he had

But what's the use?
You'll not have a wife,
So you will not marry a new woman.
But he was rich and well-bred, and his father had such a heart,
That he said to his wife,
"Your wife has a right
Honor and favor; what will you give her?"
And the little one,
The red, red, and blue,
Whispered out this jocular way,
"Your wife has a right
Honor and favor; what will you give her?"

And the little one said,
"Because she has the one soul in her,"
And the little one,
The big, sweet Red,
With the funny, high-curled smiles
Of the little one behind the other,
A-bobbing with glee
Just as if he'd like to doze
The potation of the grog-pies!
But for all that they had to say,
And not having heard or heard,
You can't afford to use the word
Which means so all the other people.
Just then she knew 'twas jewelled hands,
And the old one pouting, "Oh, how admirable it is!"
And you'll remember,

There are so many other people
Who get them into trouble,
There's little men,
And for the most part of their life,
There are rich men like undenyed men.
And if one takes a drop of driving,
Another drops it easily.
There are so many honest people
Who shun a house that can't be hiding.
What delicate people are you all,
You are so very flattered
That when you get a grudge,
Or trouble it all with feeling,
They don't know who are good friends.
For all your merry mirth and merriment,
And all your merry laughter,
There's one who has but one mind,
What is it that he knows of friends?

Here's somebody that don't like his mirth,
Or his father's ploughing,
And that is all the question he
May choose to live in,
And that's the point he fires the most,
And makes his cares to creep about.
There's faces with the legs outspread
In the road that he sets out.
Though you look at the beaten men,
Or see them on their feet,
They've got a perennial row
Of legs in the street,
And so it's clean and good to be
A hero like you.

If you see a road outspread,
Or upon a summer's morning
Dream-like from the plain,
You just let the water flash,
You never let it stain;
The man that's real good and kind
Is one of us who knows.

Here's another with the heart outspread,
But we won't go again.
The dying stream is running red
As it runs along the bed.
Your window keeps a constant pull
To see the stream's reflection--
But go, don't start to fret;
'Twas here the water came to be
A big pebble spray and sea.

Here is a heap of gilded wood
Where the man's candle was:
We're on the journeying side astride
When I was but a little child.
Now, our three-legged girl beside
The fire with one good arm
Will take us unaware.
And that's what we shall wear.

Here's a bit of a new round,
And a bit of a hill,
And a better room
With a pool on the hill,
======================================== SAMPLE 14 
========================================
 on the tee-jib's wa'-shoo;
The beggar'd hodm'd in bed,
Wi' a sark-sleeve-sleeve in his back,
Whenas his wee bit bairns did come,
And cried, "Eh, faithless Tam!
A better dochter couldna be!"

But, word for word, the vera lad
(His misther had na sta'n a')
Bliss Carler, wha kens thy saw,
Wad hint the vera baith thy heid:
He kens the vera baith thy saw,
For vera baith thy saw and saw;
Sae tak' your misther apron, M'Let!

Or, ken ye weel, ye wuird poor thing?
I've seen them ca'ed them a' in thrall,
In park or stately hall.
I've seen them sairly chant their lays,
In furth or woak, in barks or plays;
And meikle-dum, and wood-nymph's lays,
They maun bewiss the baith men say;
And meikle-dum, and wood-nymph's lays,
They maun bewiss the baith men say.

And mony a cantie carle, O Tum!
Ye'll still be tunefu' at the sound,
Wi' music's mair than a' the ices;
And to the warld, wha hiz upo'
Your misther, Tam, they can a' gie ye
Wi' melody, and fun and glee,
And mad-tonage, and the evenin' cry,
They maun bewa'ed by a' the ninnies;
But, O Tum, ye'll no be for aye
(The truth may be) pit-a-pather.

The quiltins, whether they be waur,
Or be themsel's plays deid for feir,
Maun be ta'en up, wha're gaun to braw,
As fast as twa are leevin's.
A quiltins, wha'll be fash'd sark-fast?
A thrawart sark an' a auld man's breech?
A whistles, that's sound wi' t' wind?
A whistles, that's sound wi' t' rain?
A ne'er, that I think, will be for thee;
And a ne'er, that I think, will be for thee,
When nae the sea comes, simmering tow'rds me,
Wi' dancin' sails, owre a' the blue,
An' the wind blaws i' the gummin' yooth;
And whiles, whan my heart beats in the stoup,
An' I rin an' dream, at evenin', droop,
An' then, wi' the wind, I'll end my sang,
An' seek my lane, at the mirk stane,
Wi' her green wull for my lanely stane.

Wi' the bricht blade o' burnin' ling,
When the water, mak' a leis mair bricht,
Than has been step for noontide twenty sicht,
Frae my awnell starns I gae a sicht,
Afore I began to think o' it;
When I gaed to the byre o' it
A-heppin' my ain wee carkit carkit carkit carkit carkit carkit cawit 
cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit 
cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit 
cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit 
cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit 
cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit 
cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit cawit 
cawit cawit caw
======================================== SAMPLE 15 
========================================
, who come and have but their language--
Lady, list to the rustling of dew,
List! we heard a love-call come and go,--
Fiery and fierce and bitter as blood,
O'er the Mermaid stealeth as hath been said.

Mighty prophet! Seer of the stormy soul,
Tempter of the blast, wretch, tempter of soul,
Nature's prophet, seer in Thee, Thou dost roll
Rocks along the Eternal which are now to gnaw.

"Oh thou of Homakers! Oh thou of the Frosts!
Oh thou of the Thrang! Oh thou of the beasts!
Oh thou of the under-world that seest the ghost
Of the golden-scaled sage, Father Whittington!
Thou of the Forests! who in the night
With the cutting hoof of a lion must fight,
Stalking the ghost of a King; oh thou
Of the scarlet-throated Pithe, Oh thou
Of the blazing throat and the battle-snow!
Whittington! Swarming divine of Art!
Sweet of taste and proud of heart,
Flowers of culture, fruit of desire,
Woods for sport, and whiting for fire!
Crass, at highest, within and without
Frost, and snow, and, to give the grim foe drink,
Roaring and frothing at each other, drink.

Yea, the crows, the enlightened, the dear,
Vague of remembered, vain-glorious year,
Now, the soul, half turning, half turning,
Looks on the master's face, like a moon
Rising and setting, and looking from thence--
He, the Master-in-Law, who hath named
The king, Wielder, justly--who he was
When the poet came by the way to France,
And here, then, for the sight of a queen,
Hath called over the infinite sea.

Voiceless, perchance, to the Heart's desire,
Soul that hath found eternal calm in the flesh,
Is the nobler, softer the nobler man,
Hiding his own, the beneficent,
An heir of earth, nor in measureless length
Of the being welded to form and made
To shed the light of humanity
O'er the being for her great deliverance
Earned by her mighty natural.

Lavish of the realm in which the sea,
Scattered over the world, is trodden and trodden,
O Art, make now for thy perfections this:
That in likewise of which we are come,
When you alone man's heart shall unlock,
Afar, by some strange fate, in a world
Which, darkly inscribed on the ivory keys,
Was trapped by the midnight bird as a seal.

Love first that which the senses took
With aspect and thought, soul of beauty,
'Tis it, in the therefore, we are able
To fashion the bright loveliness
By which to the wondrous inner sight.
Love which yet lives, in beauty's light,
Alone possesses all excess.

Upward then from breast unto breast
Is drawn the elusive modesty
Of that purity, every whiteness,
That art hath in itself the law
Of all the seas, in each, sea-breathing
Rooted in the fields, wide-opening,
To the intimate heart's deep centres of thought.

From God-is there comes an inner light
That fills and feeds us with emotion
In lofty, unmeasured epics
Of beauty, that is love's abiding-place,
Thou shalt discern the complex play-ground
Of beautiful words, or my song will trace
The hieroglyphics of my thoughts,
And fathom why, and sing their glory,
Tracing them with deep tenderness.

Not only these, O little poets!
The world you know is full of them,
And perfect for you are they all.
For each, of these I have sung
Is full of the full, golden light
That through our fair poet-heart thrashes
Before his marriage with light:
The full-ed souls are the worlds.
But, dear books, in love's far dominion
I am your heart-deep, loving nation.

Hath she with such a genial voice
Uttered this outer world,--
With softest echoes, sweetest touch
Of hand, and foot, and heart,
For all men's wonder, more than those
Sylvanian music which,
Fading through his chrysolite vine,
Speaks, and makes visible
The radiant gates of daylight
======================================== SAMPLE 16 
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 fell asleep,
His brow was circled with a weight
Of lovely thoughts. In dreams he read
The story of his fathers' deeds
Of wonder and of blood's remorse.
On heads of corn he held high feast,
In robes of purple, silken down,
His star-bright body hung in light,
His powdered forelock wore a crown,
With broideries of crushed burnished gold,
And rubies of the cobweb cold.
I saw him as he lay, whereon,
Upon a hill's fantastic crown,
While all his gathered life lay dead,
Like to some old musician's head,
Came to the cataract's dashing flow,
And there, in softer voice, he said:
"Why art thou here, a fen to roam
Far from the buzzing clamour of the dead?
Pluck up thy hasty fruit, destroy
With wine the brimming goblet's foam.
Come, drain the goblet's strength destroy,
And drink the brewage of thy thirst
Then, only then, with magic art
To waken from its long delay
The long hours of thy joyous play."

And now he heard a funeral-peal,
A sorrowing voice, that fared along
Beneath the moonlight's gracious lay,
And funeral-pipes that called to-day
Farewell, farewell, forever nigh!
At the outer door
Lay many a goodly kid,
Tremembered like a hare.
But his precious flesh was gone,
No longer young, nor yet
With any pledges of good grace
Fastened itself at home.
For past the feast and done,
On a shabby gray stone old,
That overlooked the well-built place,
And met by a small village gray,
And a small hut in a woody nook,
That stood there, near a gloomy nook,
Where the brown taper lit each hole,
And opened over and let in
Darkness and sunshine, sunlight and moonlight,
That glimmered through the windows' gloom,
Like an old friend's sepulchre.

Short the way
Here, when the snows were gone,
In summer, on the hill,
Close up the stile;
The snowdrop, with his head
Across his shoulders, hung
Like a bunch of flowers
Shaped in a sunny dell.
And the pears, that were the heap
Of flowers late so dear,
Trembled and flashed and fell
On the table there.

Nothing says this place.
The faded flower-bud,
On its dead lord's bones,
Was hidden close;
Its blooms were gone,
And the golden grass
Sifted dust around;
The lone Rose put forth its leaves
In the garden of her heart,
Whose sad thoughts wandered forth,
In many a humble mood,
Through the very solitude
That once was her own mood.

Whither the days go?
Take me, tender May,
Ye have passed away,
By the cold world's way,
Under autumn's sun.
Fields fresh with autumn,
Budding where the eglantine
Winds the cottage that once stood,
Where the alders stood.

Where the slanting yellow
In the warm hedge-row
Seems to bar the way.
Towers and fields with flowers,
Winding where they go,
And the traveller brings
His blind wand back to go,
Where they might not see.

Come to me at evening,
Come when the shadows fall,
Come in the gloaming,
In such an hour,
Such a wandering home.
I'll be your shield.
Fear not. Thou only, I know,
The gleam, the hope and you shall go,
While I smile on your face,
And sweet dreams in your voice.

Yet many a promise yet remains,
That my young days may still succeed
In useful converse sweet, but pain
To live in, and that need to breed
A love within me that shall be
More perfect in itself. The end
Is come, but soon or late.
O thou, by Heaven sent
To my bedside mast;
Come while I glory in my love,
In my low bed to pray,
A white robe and a star above,
And a blessed blessed day!

Bend down your head,
And look up.
Ye hosts of sorrow ones, come down,
Ye palaces of woe,
Prayer for the faithful ones that die,
And have no place to go,
But go up on the silent seas,
The lonely homes, and homes,
======================================== SAMPLE 17 
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 from head to foot, the few trees which Christ's careless force
and spells will draw down to them, he will see that ever
the evil is done--hiding life's shame away from the seeker,
the hopeless perishing, the ignorant man, and he will gaze again,
turning from shore to shore and bidding adieu to the heroes.

When I once had heard voices, 'twas but a long while ago, and I
knew them the same--how should I know them?  Yet, God knows,
it is plain enough that not the angels, not the saints who
live always, not the redeemed,
must ever greet my spirit more closely than my
verses.  My heart still kept telling my very dear love's
story to me, but so many nights ago--so many years since
he told me all the love he could ask--and so many
moments since that time--his tale told of the love
which he could not withhold, yet still lives, in the distance
beforetime, when the glory of God glitters brightly in the
heart.

God sends me home with power,
With power to sound the lonely hours
To numbers of true worth;
To make the earth, the forest-trees,
To rosy-bosomed flower,
And mould the solemn thoughts to be
Which May-time cares to wean;
To blot the fairy-fleece
Which hides its loveliness and truth,
Its little hour of bliss;
To darken the deep-sea of woe,
And set the blue above it so,
That far from earth he trod.

Lord, grant me Peace; I'm slow to grudge,
Or pit me for my sins like these;
Lord, wilt Thou help me in my need,
Or strengthen me in dreams?
Rather than fail, as storms are driven,
And rigorously out endeavour,
Lord, send me Peace again;

To win no heart, to take no rest,
Then, never, Lord, forget,
Thy holy name we angels know,
That we are stretched in welcome so.
And grant us Peace again;
And strengthen us in this great fight,
Where One in Glory is;
That, to make all of time restored,
Belongs to me in heaven.

As the fisher remembers the sunnyted shallows,
When the winds are in fields which are parched and
unprisoned,
The line stretched, so long beyond sands or mountain,
But drifting away in the distance beyond
The quiet, still darkness, he saw that it reached
the shore
And the rushing wind, and the golden sea, and the
glory that crowned the bright bay.

And all the long night I would wistfully scan,
As I thro' the grey dawn I watched it rise,
With the flashing wing of a golden chrysolite,
And the ocean behind, and the leaping wind,
And the soft, sweet kiss of the lonely sea,
That makes Love home, and we two together,
To shore upon the sweet bay weather.

Ah, dream too bright to be dreaming
Like those far-away stars we see,
Who come to us, glad and unwearying
As Hesper falleth from the sea!
O, dream too bright to be weeping
Like those far-away stars we see,

He comes with a sombre, leaden wing,
He tarrieth in gusts of flame.
Ah, dream too bright to be weeping
Like those far-away stars we see,
To bear, as falleth love's bright wings,
His bright soul back to us and us,
To chant of grace in this dim air,
And feast us with many a star,
The music that doth not come near,
Whence no winged soul doth come near.

Ah, dream too bright to be weeping
Like those far-away stars we see,
To teach us how each one maketh
A vision and a glorious birth.
Poor fools, they cry, they love thee,
They hide thee with their hoods above thee,
They lash thee with their chains to rend thee,
They tear thee with their knives of love,
They bid thee writhe up in the wood,
Thy life is a mockery to love,
And love is a lesson to love.

O, dream too bright to be weeping
Like those far-away stars we see,
To teach us how each one maketh
His bright soul back to us and us,
To bear, as falleth his bright soul,
His bright soul back to us and us,
To bear, as falleth his bright soul.
======================================== SAMPLE 18 
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 to the father as he came down
His Argives from the sun's way, and they chose
No armed men for the War-god.  Sudden bright
As the thronged scroll-clouds, when their handiwork
Fills the portentous bridge across the flood,
And the hero leaps out with his utmost power
Back on his own ship, and with one vast shout
In anguish and alarm the Trojans sprang
Crashing together, like a storm-cloud's cloud.
Such the confederate robins.  Who would dare
That the great Sea-maids bring them safe again
Across that narrow sea, and drag them back
From the stanchions where their brethren slept?
Then a great whirlwind threw them from their frames,
And smote the heavens, and they sank to earth.

Even then Achilles knew the deep desire
Of war-destroying foes.  He started up
Through the thick gloom; no flickering blazing sun
Gleamed above, no starry glimmer of blazing stars
Shone round him; from his temples swelled his eyes,
And his heart leaped with the bliss of that fair deed
As, running, he essayed to conquer them.
But the strong God withheld not in his heart
The vision of that Might-have-been.  Long time
He trembled, and in awe, all trembling, cried,
While his loud heart with anguish was o'erflowed.
But the great God withheld not in his heart
The vision of that which he foreknew,
Of that shame wrought, that honourable pride
Stamped on his unforgotten name.  His wrath
Marvelled at such indignity to him.
He suffered not that he should not fight
His despoiled people ever more in fray.
But now when a great host he beheld,
And marvelled, being wrangling, how to press
The Immortal gates again, he cried aloud,
"Dog, be no coward:  let the thing be cast
Into the very heart of a great Lord!"

Then from his presence shrank the Argive men
With awe-struck courage.  Onward then they poured
Indomitable wine, and made them thrall
With their great masters to their joy.  Long since
The supreme Fates had given him strength to rouse
The Argives on their knees to pity.  Him
They softened, but abashed.  With anguished heart
They banched him from the battle.  A great shout
Then rose for joyous hearts around their lord,
And shouted, and the people bickering ran
As the storm-showered river leaps upon the hills
And spurns the thirsty walls.  The chariots whirled
To meet the warriors, mad with eager haste,
And with their thunderer o'er the hollow wave
The limbs were quivering.  Each man, though he
Fought breathless round him, grasped the mighty spear
Which Achilles' broad breast bore, and eagerly
Would fain have thrust it from his mighty hand
And quencht it in his own despiteful heart.

So in great strength they smote him with their might.
Then did the Blessed Battle-eager draw
At last within a wall not far apart
Which o'er the mighty dead had fallen a-stretch
Before the Gods' stern doom.  There in the wall
Lay perishing the Thracian, as a babe
Blest with the firstlings of its mother's breast
And milk the little brooks of a mother's milk
On a cradle of the aged:  for Achilles' hand
Thrilled to a sudden the air, tremulous
And quick, and from beneath his feet as loud
Rushed a white steed fast by, as, wild with fear,
The rush of men rushed onward, or a cry
Pressed from the mighty heart; loud rang the stones
As on the wind of Zeus.  Tumult there came
Hovering, and echo of the pitiless deeds
Of those that perished in that battle-strife.

So in their multitude he rushed out like
A thunderbolt from Jove, in thunderstorm
Tossing the earth.  The chariots then were turned
Back to the rampart; and with clash of arms
And sound of heavy hurling of man-steeds' heads
Rose the great Amazons.  Anon the Greeks
Halted with panic-stricken hearts, and caught
The beams that flashed from their still-rooted shields,
For in that better fight they deemed them all,
But laid the earth in drudgery behind them.  Then
Marvelled the highest of the inthwits of their
======================================== SAMPLE 19 
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.
"How still the sky! nor how the seas in brass
Scattered the mists,--alas! not those who rule
O'er rolling waves, who sail so ill at ease
Groping for mercy! how it is with me
Man tramples down, from all the vast domain
Of all that earth has made! And this is he
That must break Sin's chain, and break the free
Of man's desire! And this is he, the Lord
That captive led to shudder, and indeed
Such as he now rejoices, to restore
Peace to his folk, and daily to assuage
His of that woeful realm to come! And some
Heard in the murmurings of the multitude
And village preachings of a mother; some
Saw fervid with the faith that they believe
No less than they, to those who for the good
Compel the evil, and confound the good
For which they are undone. And lastly, see,
With just-accordant piety their hands
Healing and huge altar-laying have done
Their sacrifice, and poured their wine, and gave
Their God! And lastly, in that plenteous hour,
Since with the early-born they met together,