Children, if you dare to think

Of the greatness, rareness, muchness,

Fewness of this precious only (more…)

It is a wondrous thing how fleet ‘

Twas on those little silver feet;

With what a pretty skipping grace

It oft would challenge me the race;

And when ‘t had left me far away,

‘Twould stay, and run again, and stay; (more…)

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that’s best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies. (more…)

[I Wake and Feel the Fell of Dark, Not Day.]

I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day.

What hours, o what black hours we have spent

This night! what sights you, heart, saw; ways you went!

And more must, in yet longer light’s delay.

With witness I speak this.

But where I say Hours I mean years, mean life. And my lament Is cries countless, cries like dead letters sent

To dearest him that lives alas! away. (more…)