Children are dumb to say how hot the day is,

How hot the scent is of the summer rose, (more…)

His eyes are quickened so with grief,

He can watch a grass or leaf

Every instant grow; he can (more…)

Children, if you dare to think

Of the greatness, rareness, muchness,

Fewness of this precious only (more…)

His golden locks time hath to silver turned;

Oh, time too swift, oh, swiftness never ceasing!
His youth ‘gainst time and age hath ever spurned,

But spurned in vain; youth waneth by increasing. (more…)

Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show,

That the dear she might take some pleasure of my pain,

Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know,

Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain,

I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe: (more…)

The nightingale, as soon as April bringeth

Unto her rested sense a perfect waking,

While late bare earth, proud of new clothing, springeth, (more…)

Ring out your bells, let mourning shows be spread,

For Love is dead.

All Love is dead, infected

With plague of deep disdain; (more…)

Silently my wife walks on the still wet furze

Now darkgreen the leaves are full of metaphors

Now lit up is each tiny lamp of blueberry. (more…)

They have given you French names

And mad^ you captive, my rugged troublesome compatriots;

Your splendid beards, here, are epicene, plaster white (more…)

At the end of the garden walk the wind

And its satellite wait for me;

Their meaning I will not know

Until I go there,

But the black-hatted undertaker (more…)