George Eliot Poems

If you sit down at set of sun
And count the acts that you have done,
And, counting, find
One self-denying deed, one word
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The sky is cloudy, yellowed by the smoke.
For view there are the houses opposite
Cutting the sky with one long line of wall
Like solid fog: far as the eye can stretch
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"La noche buena se viene,
La noche buena se va,
Y nosotros nos iremos
Y no volveremos mas."
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You love the roses - so do I. I wish
The sky would rain down roses, as they rain
From off the shaken bush. Why will it not?
Then all the valley would be pink and white
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Oh, may I join the choir invisible
Of those immortal dead who live again
In minds made better by their presence; live
In pulses stirred to generosity,
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Two lovers by a moss-grown spring:
They leaned soft cheeks together there,
Mingled the dark and sunny hair,
And heard the wooing thrushes sing.
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'Mid my gold-brown curls
There twined a silver hair:
I plucked it idly out
And scarcely knew 'twas there.
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"I grant you ample leave
To use the hoary formula 'I am'
Naming the emptiness where thought is not;
But fill the void with definition, 'I'
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Your soul was lifted by the wings today
Hearing the master of the violin:
You praised him, praised the great Sabastian too
Who made that fine Chaconne; but did you think
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The world is great: the birds all fly from me,
The stars are golden fruit upon a tree
All out of reach: my little sister went,
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