Just before his Death.
WHY should I wish to hold in this low sphere
'A frail and feverish being?' wherefore try
Poorly from day to day to linger here,

I've had all sorts of luck, sometimes bad, sometimes better,
But now I have somebody's luck and my own,
For I stooped in the street and I picked up a letter,
Which some one had written to send away home.

The Woddy Hollow

© William Barnes

If mem'ry, when our hope's a-gone,

Could bring us dreams to cheat us on,

My Birthday

© John Henry Newman

Let the sun summon all his beams to hold

Bright pageant in his court, the cloud-paved sky

When All Has Been Said And Done.

© Paul Hamilton Hayne

"Perhaps it will all come right at last;
It may be, when all is done,
We shall be together in some good world,
Where to wish and to have are one."
--STODDARD.

Don Juan: Canto The Fifth

© George Gordon Byron

When amatory poets sing their loves

In liquid lines mellifluously bland,

Saint Mar Magdelene; or, The Weeper

© Richard Crashaw

Hail, sister springs,
Parents of silver-footed rills!
Ever bubbling things,
Thawing crystal, snowy hills!
Still spending, never spent; I mean
Thy fair eyes, sweet Magdalene.

Immortelles

© Madison Julius Cawein

I.

As some warm moment of repose

The Ringlet

© Caroline Norton

Change!--thou wert all life's scenery:
To me, the billowy, bounding wave--
The wide green earth--the far blue sky,
Form but the landscape of thy grave!

The Burden Of Strength

If that thou hast the gift of strength, then know
Thy part is to uplift the trodden low;
Else in a giant's grasp until the end
A hopeless wrestler shall thy soul contend.

At The Fall Of An Age

(The story of Achilles rising from the dead for love of Helen

is well enough known. That of Polyxo's vengeance may be less

Regret For The Departure Of Friends

As smoke from a volcano soars in the air,
The soul of man discontent mounts from a sigh,
Exhaled as to heaven in mystical prayer,
Invoking that love which forbids him to die.

The Lord of the Isles: Canto IV.

I.

Stranger! if e'er thine ardent step hath traced

A Parson's Letter To A Young Poet

© Jean Ingelow

They said: "We, rich by him, are rich by more;
One Aeschylus found watchfires on a hill
That lit Old Night's three daughters to their work;
When the forlorn Fate leaned to their red light
And sat a-spinning, to her feet he came
And marked her till she span off all her thread.