POSIES.
—Is this ... the posy of a ring?Hamlet.
—Is this ... the posy of a ring?Hamlet.
—Is this ... the posy of a ring?
—Is this ... the posy of a ring?
Hamlet.
Hamlet.
I were not worth you, could I long for you;But should you come, you would find me ready.The lamp is lighted, the flame is steady:Over the strait I toss this song for you!
I were not worth you, could I long for you;But should you come, you would find me ready.The lamp is lighted, the flame is steady:Over the strait I toss this song for you!
I were not worth you, could I long for you;But should you come, you would find me ready.The lamp is lighted, the flame is steady:Over the strait I toss this song for you!
I were not worth you, could I long for you;
But should you come, you would find me ready.
The lamp is lighted, the flame is steady:
Over the strait I toss this song for you!
Too-perfect Rose, thy heavy breath has powerTo wake a dim, an unexplained regret:Art body to the soul of some deep hourThat all my seasons have not yielded yet?But if it be so—Hour, too-perfect Hour,Ah, blow not full, though all the yearning daysShould tremble bud-like, since the wind must showerThine unreturning grace along the ways!
Too-perfect Rose, thy heavy breath has powerTo wake a dim, an unexplained regret:Art body to the soul of some deep hourThat all my seasons have not yielded yet?But if it be so—Hour, too-perfect Hour,Ah, blow not full, though all the yearning daysShould tremble bud-like, since the wind must showerThine unreturning grace along the ways!
Too-perfect Rose, thy heavy breath has powerTo wake a dim, an unexplained regret:Art body to the soul of some deep hourThat all my seasons have not yielded yet?
Too-perfect Rose, thy heavy breath has power
To wake a dim, an unexplained regret:
Art body to the soul of some deep hour
That all my seasons have not yielded yet?
But if it be so—Hour, too-perfect Hour,Ah, blow not full, though all the yearning daysShould tremble bud-like, since the wind must showerThine unreturning grace along the ways!
But if it be so—Hour, too-perfect Hour,
Ah, blow not full, though all the yearning days
Should tremble bud-like, since the wind must shower
Thine unreturning grace along the ways!
—lumenque juventæPurpureum—
—lumenque juventæPurpureum—
—lumenque juventæPurpureum—
—lumenque juventæ
Purpureum—
O smile of spring, that o’er the worn gray browOf some old many-memoried house dost run,The very light of purple Youth art thouThe laughing goddess shed upon her son!
O smile of spring, that o’er the worn gray browOf some old many-memoried house dost run,The very light of purple Youth art thouThe laughing goddess shed upon her son!
O smile of spring, that o’er the worn gray browOf some old many-memoried house dost run,The very light of purple Youth art thouThe laughing goddess shed upon her son!
O smile of spring, that o’er the worn gray brow
Of some old many-memoried house dost run,
The very light of purple Youth art thou
The laughing goddess shed upon her son!
“It is the nightingale, and not the lark!”O poet-heart, enamored of the Past,That Romeo with the ruby in his ear!No longer sicken to detain the dark:Thine eyes along the clear horizon cast:Behold, a fresh imperious dawn is here!
“It is the nightingale, and not the lark!”O poet-heart, enamored of the Past,That Romeo with the ruby in his ear!No longer sicken to detain the dark:Thine eyes along the clear horizon cast:Behold, a fresh imperious dawn is here!
“It is the nightingale, and not the lark!”O poet-heart, enamored of the Past,That Romeo with the ruby in his ear!No longer sicken to detain the dark:Thine eyes along the clear horizon cast:Behold, a fresh imperious dawn is here!
“It is the nightingale, and not the lark!”
O poet-heart, enamored of the Past,
That Romeo with the ruby in his ear!
No longer sicken to detain the dark:
Thine eyes along the clear horizon cast:
Behold, a fresh imperious dawn is here!