When for the thorns with which I long, too long,

With many a piercing wound,

My Savior’s head have crowned,

I seek with garlands to redress that wrong;

Through every garden, every mead, (more…)

Love at the lips was touch

As sweet as I could bear;

And once that seemed too much;

I lived on air

That crossed me from sweet things,

The flow of—was it musk

From hidden grapevine springs Downhill at dusk? (more…)

“Fred, where is north?”

“North? North is there, my love.

The brook runs west.”

“West-running Brook then call it.”

(West-running Brook men call it to this day.)

“What does it think it’s doing running west

When all the other country brooks flow east

To reach the ocean?

It must be the brook

Can trust itself to go by contraries (more…)

The swinging mill bell changed its rate

To tolling like the count of fate,

And though at that the tardy ran,

One failed to make the closing gate.

There was a law of God or man

That on the one who came too late

The gate for half an hour be locked,

His time be lost, his pittance docked. (more…)

Honoure, joy, healthe, and pleasaunce,

Virtue, riches abundant with good ure,

The Lord grant you, which hath most pruissaunce,

And many a gladsome year for to endure

With love and praise of every creature; (more…)

Five hours, (and who can do it less in?)

By haughty Celia spent in dressing;

The goddess from her chamber issues,

Arrayed in lace, brocades and tissues.

Strephon, who found the room was void,

And Betty otherwise employed,

Stole in, and took a strict survey, (more…)

Air XVI. Over the Hills and Far Away

Were I laid on Greenland’s coast,

And in my arms embraced my lass:

Warm amidst eternal frost,

Too soon the half year’s night would pass.

Were I sold on Indian soil,

Soon as the burning day was closed, (more…)

Love lives beyond

The tomb, the earth, which fades like dew—

I love the fond,

The faithful, and the true.

Love lives in sleep,

‘Tis happiness of healthy dreams, (more…)

The sea is calm tonight.

The tide is full, the moon lies fair

Upon the straits; on the French coast the light

Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,

Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.

Come to the window, sweet is the night-air! (more…)

My Love is of a birth as rare

As ’tis, for object, strange and high;

It was begotten by Despair

Upon Impossibility.

Magnanimous Despair alone

Could show me so divine a thing, (more…)