SEE ALL TAGS & MOODS
The organization of sound patterns.
Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art —
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Come, my Celia, let us prove,
While we can, the sports of love;
Time will not be ours forever;
Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
Jenny kissed me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in;
Time, you thief, who love to get
The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
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,…
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
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
“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
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
Fair tree! for thy delightful shade
’Tis just that some return be made;
Sure some return is due from me
Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o’er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
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,
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?
Mark but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deniest me is;
Me it sucked first, and now sucks thee,
’Tis true, ’tis day, what though it be?
O wilt thou therefore rise from me?
Why should we rise because ’tis light?
‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
A startled stag, the blue-grey Night,
Leaps down beyond black pines.
Behind — a length of yellow light —
God moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
Wife and servant are the same,
But only differ in the name:
For when that fatal knot is tied,
The sun goes down, and over all
These barren reaches by the tide
Such unelusive glories fall,
Lord of my heart’s elation,
Spirit of things unseen,
Be thou my aspiration
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
On Turning up in Her Nest with the Plough, November, 1785
Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim’rous beastie,
O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!
O my Luve is like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve is like the melody
What is he buzzing in my ears?
“Now that I come to die,
Do I view the world as a vale of tears?”
Shall earth no more inspire thee,
Thou lonely dreamer now?
Since passion may not fire thee
Ah! why, because the dazzling sun
Restored my earth to joy
Have you departed, every one,
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,
All things within this fading world hath end,
Adversity doth still our joyes attend;
No ties so strong, no friends so dear and sweet,
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
