Come soon, my friends, poet and painter, both.
I need you always, and my eyes are loth
To miss your gentle faces.
With idle touches on the strings and quills,
My sad lyre traces you through plains and hills,
Towns and historic places.

My music is gone with you overseas.
Oh! lute and pencil, come and give me ease,
For you have stolen my art.
I thirst for thee, thou double stream most sweet,
Alpheus and Arethuse, whose waters fleet
Met, mingled in my heart.

I watch the painter and the poet linger

Inland, inland, inland, inland.
I am walking long inland, inland.
Nobody loves me, she is the greatest of all, I walk inland.
They love me only on account of the things I obtain for them.
They love me only on account of the food I obtain for them.

I LOVE a prayer-book;
I love a thorn-tree
That blows in the grass
As white as can be.

I love an old house
Set down in the sun,
And the windy old roads
That thereabout run.

I love blue, thin frocks;
Green stones one and all;
A sky full of stars,
A rose at the fall.

A lover I love;
Oh, had I but one,
I would give him all these,
Myself, and the sun!

My rears
of longing
must share something in common
with the sky above:
for off there
in the distance
a cloud, too,
begins to shower.

Come , gentle ghosts, from that far-distant shore
Of those that look no more upon the sun,
We love you ever as we loved before,
We could not fear you now the day is done;
One ghost alone I fear, the ghost of one
That lives—but loves and is beloved no more.

Thirsis a youth of the inspired train,
Faire Sacharissa lov'd, but lov'd in vain;
Like Phoebus sung, the no less amorous boy;
Like Daphne, she as lovely and as coy;
With numbers, he the flying Nymph pursues,
With numbers, such as Phoebus selfe might use;
Such is the chase, when love and fancy leads
O'er craggy mountains, and through flowery meads,
Invok'd to testifie the lovers care,
Or forme some image of his cruell Faire:
Urg'd with his fury like a wounded Deer
O'er these he fled, and now approaching neer,

Gather, O gather,
Foeman and friend in love and peace!
Waves sleep together
When the blasts that called them to battle, cease.
For fangless Power grown tame and mild
Is at play with Freedom's fearless child--
The dove and the serpent reconciled!

My God, Thyself being Love Thy heart is love,
And love Thy Will and love Thy Word to us,
Whether Thou show us depths calamitous
Or heights and flights of rapturous peace above.
O Christ the Lamb, O Holy Ghost the Dove,
Reveal the Almighty Father unto us;
That we may tread Thy courts felicitous,
Loving Who loves us, for our God is Love.
Lo, if our God be Love thro' heaven's long day,
Love is He thro' our mortal pilgrimage,
Love was He thro' all aeons that are told.
We change, but Thou remainest; for Thine age

If the nose of the pig in the market of Firenze
has lost its matte patina, and shines, brassy,
even in the half light; if the mosaic saint
on the tiles of the Basilica floor is half gone,
worn by the gravity of solid soles, the passing
of piety; if the arms of Venus have reentered
the rubble, taken by time, her perennial lover,
mutilating even the memory of beauty;
and if
the mother, hiding with her child from
the death squads of brutality,
if she, trying to keep the child