SEE ALL TAGS & MOODS
Glory be to God for dappled things —
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple…
I caught this morning morning’s minion, king-
dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling…
Nothing is so beautiful as Spring —
When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;
Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens,…
As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame;
As tumbled over rim in roundy wells
Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell’s
Ay, tear her tattered ensign down!
Long has it waved on high,
And many an eye has danced to see
Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today
When God at first made man,
Having a glass of blessings standing by,
“Let us,” said he, “pour on him all we can.
Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-ey’d Love, observing me grow slack
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
How great unto the living seem the dead!
How sacred, solemn; how heroic grown;
How vast and vague, as they obscurely tread
“Had he and I but met
By some old ancient inn,
We should have sat us down to wet
If but some vengeful god would call to me
From up the sky, and laugh: “Thou suffering thing,
Know that thy sorrow is my ecstasy,
We deemed the secret lost, the spirit gone,
Which spake in Greek simplicity of thought,
And in the forms of gods and heroes wrought
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
Could our first father, at his toilsome plow,
Thorns in his path, and labor on his brow,
Clothed only in a rude, unpolished skin,
The lords of life, the lords of life, —
I saw them pass,
In their own guise,
When I was fair and young, then favor graced me.
Of many was I sought their mistress for to be.
But I did scorn them all and answered them therefore:
I grieve and dare not show my discontent,
I love and yet am forced to seem to hate,
I do, yet dare not say I ever meant,
O quam te memorem virgo...
Stand on the highest pavement of the stair —
Lean on a garden urn —
We wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes, —
This debt we pay to human guile;
Wilt thou forgive that sin where I begun,
Which was my sin, though it were done before?
Wilt thou forgive that sin, through which I run,
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow
I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I
Did, till we loved? Were we not weaned till then?
But sucked on country pleasures, childishly?
’Tis true, ’tis day, what though it be?
O wilt thou therefore rise from me?
Why should we rise because ’tis light?
Often beneath the wave, wide from this ledge
The dice of drowned men’s bones he saw bequeath
An embassy. Their numbers as he watched,
God moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
I am — yet what I am none cares or knows;
My friends forsake me like a memory lost:
I am the self-consumer of my woes —
Wife and servant are the same,
But only differ in the name:
For when that fatal knot is tied,
A boat, beneath a sunny sky,
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July —
Lord of my heart’s elation,
Spirit of things unseen,
Be thou my aspiration
Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow,
Though thou be black as night
And she made all of light,
So, we’ll go no more a roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
O my Luve is like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve is like the melody
Escape me?
Never —
Beloved!
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless;
That only men incredulous of despair,
Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air
If I should die, think only this of me:
That there’s some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
Thou ill-form’d offspring of my feeble brain,
Who after birth didst by my side remain,
Till snatched from thence by friends, less wise than true,
If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were loved by wife, then thee.
If ever wife was happy in a man,
When my mother died I was very young,
And my father sold me while yet my tongue
Could scarcely cry “‘weep! ‘weep! ‘weep! ‘weep!”
A little black thing among the snow,
Crying “weep! ‘weep!” in notes of woe!
“Where are thy father and mother? say?”
Piping down the valleys wild,
Piping songs of pleasant glee,
On a cloud I saw a child,
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Love in Fantastic Triumph sat,
Whilst Bleeding Hearts around him flowed,
For whom Fresh pains he did Create,
