Mother of Hermes! and still youthful Maia! May I sing to thee As thou wast hymned on the shores of Baiae? Or may I woo thee In earlier Sicilian? or thy smiles Seek as they once were sought, in Grecian isles, By bards who died content on pleasant sward, Leaving great verse unto a little clan? O give me their old vigour! and unheard Save of the quiet primrose, and  [ Read More ]

MOTHER of Hermes! and still youthful Maia! May I sing to thee As thou wast hymned on the shores of Baiae? Or may I woo thee In earlier Sicilian? or thy smiles Seek as they once were sought, in Grecian isles, By bards who died content on pleasant sward, Leaving great verse unto a little clan? O give me their old vigour! and unheard Save of the quiet primrose, and  [ Read More ]

To-night I’ll have my friar — let me think About my room, — I’ll have it in the pink; It should be rich and sombre, and the moon, Just in its mid-life in the midst of June, Should look thro’ four large windows and display Clear, but for gold-fish vases in the way, Their glassy diamonding on Turkish floor; The tapers keep aside, an hour and more, To see what  [ Read More ]

Fill for me a brimming bowl And in it let me drown my soul: But put therein some drug, designed To Banish Women from my mind: For I want not the stream inspiring That fills the mind with–fond desiring, But I want as deep a draught As e’er from Lethe’s wave was quaff’d; From my despairing heart to charm The Image of the fairest form That e’er my reveling eyes  [ Read More ]

Ever let the Fancy roam, Pleasure never is at home: At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth, Like to bubbles when rain pelteth; Then let winged Fancy wander Through the thought still spread beyond her: Open wide the mind’s cage-door, She’ll dart forth, and cloudward soar. O sweet Fancy! let her loose; Summer’s joys are spoilt by use, And the enjoying of the Spring Fades as does its blossoming; Autumn’s red-lipp’d  [ Read More ]

I. Shed no tear! oh, shed no tear! The flower will bloom another year. Weep no more! oh, weep no more! Young buds sleep in the root’s white core. Dry your eyes! oh, dry your eyes! For I was taught in Paradise To ease my breast of melodies,– Shed no tear. Overhead! look overhead! ‘Mong the blossoms white and red– Look up, look up! I flutter now On this fresh  [ Read More ]

O! were I one of the Olympian twelve, Their godships should pass this into law,– That when a man doth set himself in toil After some beauty veiled far away, Each step he took should make his lady’s hand More soft, more white, and her fair cheek more fair; And for each briar-berry he might eat, A kiss should bud upon the tree of love, And pulp and ripen richer  [ Read More ]