Adonais

I weep for Adonais -he is dead! O, weep for Adonais! though our tears Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head! And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years To mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers, And teach them thine own sorrow, say: "With me Died Adonais; till the Future dares Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be An echo and a light unto eternity!"

The Ballad Of Reading Gaol

(In memoriam C. T. W. Sometime trooper of the Royal Horse Guards obiit H.M. prison, Reading, Berkshire July 7, 1896) I He did not wear his scarlet coat, For blood and wine are red,

Cleared

(In Memory of a Commission) Help for a patriot distressed, a spotless spirit hurt, Help for an honourable clan sore trampled in the dirt! From Queenstown Bay to Donegal, O listen to my song, The honourable gentlemen have suffered grievous wrong. Their noble names were mentioned -- O the burning black disgrace! -- By a brutal Saxon paper in an Irish shooting-case; They sat upon it for a year, then steeled their heart to brave it,

A Tale Of The Thirteenth Floor

The hands of the clock were reaching high In an old midtown hotel; I name no name, but its sordid fame Is table talk in hell. I name no name, but hell's own flame Illumes the lobby garish, A gilded snare just off Times Square For the maidens of the parish. The revolving door swept the grimy floor

Aurora Leigh (Excerpts)

[Book 1] I am like, They tell me, my dear father. Broader brows Howbeit, upon a slenderer undergrowth Of delicate features, -- paler, near as grave ; But then my mother's smile breaks up the whole, And makes it better sometimes than itself. So, nine full years, our days were hid with God Among his mountains : I was just thirteen, Still growing like the plants from unseen roots

As I Was Walking

As I was walking, Thyme sweet to my nose, Green grasshoppers talking, Rose rivalling rose: And wing, like amber, Dispread in light, As from bush to bush Linnet took flight: Master Rabbit I saw In the shadow-rimmed mouth

Tam O' Shanter

A Tale "Of Brownyis and of Bogillis full is this Buke." Gawin Douglas. When chapman billies leave the street, And drouthy neibors neibors meet; As market days are wearing late, And folk begin to tak the gate, While we sit bousing at the nappy, An' getting fou and unco happy,

Bishop Blougram's Apology

NO more wine? then we'll push back chairs and talk. A final glass for me, though: cool, i' faith! We ought to have our Abbey back, you see. It's different, preaching in basilicas, And doing duty in some masterpiece Like this of brother Pugin's, bless his heart! I doubt if they're half baked, those chalk rosettes, Ciphers and stucco-twiddlings everywhere; It's just like breathing in a lime-kiln: eh? These hot long ceremonies of our church

Faces

SAUNTERING the pavement, or riding the country by-road--lo! such faces! Faces of friendship, precision, caution, suavity, ideality; The spiritual, prescient face--the always welcome, common, benevolent face, The face of the singing of music--the grand faces of natural lawyers and judges, broad at the back-top; The faces of hunters and fishers, bulged at the brows--the shaved blanch'd faces of orthodox citizens;

Isabella Or The Pot Of Basil

I. Fair Isabel, poor simple Isabel! Lorenzo, a young palmer in Love's eye! They could not in the self-same mansion dwell Without some stir of heart, some malady; They could not sit at meals but feel how well It soothed each to be the other by; They could not, sure, beneath the same roof sleep But to each other dream, and nightly weep.

A Poem Dedicated To My Murderer

If you strike a dagger in my chest Do ponder Air has no body. Air is flow Of running seas of life It's a long story Which has no beginning And no end.

The Everlasting Gospel

The vision of Christ that thou dost see Is my vision’s greatest enemy. Thine has a great hook nose like thine; Mine has a snub nose like to mine. Thine is the Friend of all Mankind; Mine speaks in parables to the blind. Thine loves the same world that mine hates; Thy heaven doors are my hell gates. Socrates taught what Meletus Loath’d as a nation’s bitterest curse,

Guilt And Sorrow

I A traveller on the skirt of Sarum's Plain Pursued his vagrant way, with feet half bare; Stooping his gait, but not as if to gain Help from the staff he bore; for mien and air Were hardy, though his cheek seemed worn with care Both of the time to come, and time long fled: Down fell in straggling locks his thin grey hair; A coat he wore of military red

A Farewell To False Love

Farewell, false love, the oracle of lies, A mortal foe and enemy to rest, An envious boy, from whom all cares arise, A bastard vile, a beast with rage possessed, A way of error, a temple full of treason, In all effects contrary unto reason. A poisoned serpent covered all with flowers, Mother of sighs, and murderer of repose, A sea of sorrows whence are drawn such showers

Who Reigns Supreme

Who reigns supreme and guide on earth? Kind and merciful even though we are not worth, HE loves his creation even they make wrong move, Not to HIS expectation and conduct bad prove, Life and death destined from day one, Not a day more and not a less one, Then how do we try and assume HIS role? When life is like bubble then what can be goal?

Meditation On Saviors

I When I considered it too closely, when I wore it like an element and smelt it like water, Life is become less lovely, the net nearer than the skin, a little troublesome, a little terrible. I pledged myself awhile ago not to seek refuge, neither in death nor in a walled garden, In lies nor gated loyalties, nor in the gates of contempt, that easily lock the world out of doors.

The Expiration

So, so, break off this last lamenting kiss, Which sucks two souls, and vapors both away, Turn thou ghost that way, and let me turn this, And let our selves benight our happiest day, We ask none leave to love; nor will we owe Any, so cheap a death, as saying, Go; Go; and if that word have not quite kil'd thee, Ease me with death, by bidding me go too. Oh, if it have, let my word work on me, And a just office on a murderer do.

Evening Song

Sleep, McKade. Fold up the day. It was a bright scarf. Put it away. Take yourself to pieces like a house of cards. It is time to be a grey mouse under a tall building. Go there. Go there now. Look at the huge nails. Run behind the pipes. Scamper in the walls. Crawl towards the beckoning girl, her breasts are warm.

To Memory

Strange Power, I know not what thou art, Murderer or mistress of my heart. I know I'd rather meet the blow Of my most unrelenting foe Than live---as now I live---to be Slain twenty times a day by thee. Yet, when I would command thee hence, Thou mockest at the vain pretence, Murmuring in mine ear a song

Bigotry's Victim

I. Dares the lama, most fleet of the sons of the wind, The lion to rouse from his skull-covered lair? When the tiger approaches can the fast-fleeting hind Repose trust in his footsteps of air? No! Abandoned he sinks in a trance of despair, The monster transfixes his prey, On the sand flows his life-blood away; Whilst India's rocks to his death-yells reply, Protracting the horrible harmony.