"But as a troop of pedlars, from Cabool, Cross underneath the Indian Caucasus, That vast sky-neighbouring mountain of milk snow; Crossing so high, that, as they mount, they pass Long flocks of travelling birds dead on the snow, Choked by the air, and scarce can they themselves Slake their parched throats with sugar’d mulberries — In single file they move, and stop their breath, For fear they should dislodge the o’er hanging snows — So the pale Persians held their breath with fear."

"Thou waitest for the spark from heaven! and we, Light half-believers of our casual creeds, Who never deeply felt, nor clearly will’d, Whose insight never has borne fruit in deeds, Whose vague resolves never have been fulfill’d; For whom each year we see Breeds new beginnings, disappointments new; Who hesitate and falter life away, And lose to-morrow the ground won to-day — Ah! do not we, wanderer! await it too?"

"Thee at the ferry Oxford riders blithe, Returning home on summer-nights, have met Crossing the stripling Thames at Bab-lock-hithe, Trailing in the cool stream thy fingers wet, As the punt’s rope chops round."

"And amongst us one, Who most has suffer’d, takes dejectedly His seat upon the intellectual throne."

"The day in his hotness, The strife with the palm; The night in her silence, The stars in their calm."

"And the first grey of morning fill’d the east, And the fog rose out of the Oxus stream. But all the Tartar camp along the stream Was hush’d, and still the men were plunged in sleep."

"Go, for they call you, Shepherd, from the hill."

"O born in days when wits were fresh and clear, And life ran gaily as the sparkling Thames; Before this strange disease of modern life, With its sick hurry, its divided aims, Its heads o’ertax’d, its palsied hearts, was rife — Fly hence, our contact fear!"

"Still nursing the unconquerable hope, Still clutching the inviolable shade, With a free, onward impulse brushing through, By night, the silver’d branches of the glade."

"So, loath to suffer mute. We, peopling the void air, Make Gods to whom to impute The ills we ought to bear."

"Thou hast no right to bliss."

"Is it so small a thing To have enjoy’d the sun, To have lived light in the spring, To have loved, to have thought, to have done; To have advanc’d true friends, and beat down baffling foes?"

"Wordsworth has gone from us — and ye, Ah, may ye feel his voice as we! He too upon a wintry clime Had fallen — on this iron time Of doubts, disputes, distractions, fears."

"Physician of the Iron Age, Goethe has done his pilgrimage. He took the suffering human race, He read each wound, each weakness clear — And struck his finger on the place, And said — Thou ailest here, and here."

"He spoke, and loosed our heart in tears. He laid us as we lay at birth On the cool flowery lap of earth."

"Not milder is the general lot Because our spirits have forgot, In action’s dizzying eddy whirl’d, The something that infects the world."

"Yet they, believe me, who await No gifts from Chance, have conquer’d Fate."

"Goethe in Weimar sleeps, and Greece, Long since, saw Byron’s struggle cease."

"Hither and thither spins The wind-borne mirroring soul, A thousand glimpses wins, And never sees a whole."

"The sophist sneers: Fool, take Thy pleasure, right or wrong! The pious wail: Forsake A world these sophists throng! Be neither saint- nor sophist-led, but be a man."

"We do not what we ought, What we ought not, we do, And lean upon the thought That chance will bring us through; But our own acts, for good or ill, are mightier powers."

"Nature, with equal mind, Sees all her sons at play Sees man control the wind, The wind sweep man away."

"Time may restore us in his course Goethe’s sage mind and Byron’s force; But where will Europe’s latter hour Again find Wordsworth’s healing power?"

"Far, far from here, The Adriatic breaks in a warm bay Among the green Illyrian hills; ... And there, they say, two bright and aged snakes, Who once were Cadmus and Harmonia, Bask in the glens or on the warm sea-shore, In breathless quiet, after all their ills."

"She will start from her slumber When gusts shake the door: She will hear the winds howling, Will hear the waves roar. We shall see, while above us The waves roar and whirl, A ceiling of amber, A pavement of pearl. Singing, "Here came a mortal, But faithless was she: And alone dwell for ever The kings of the sea.""

"’Tis Apollo comes leading His choir, the Nine. —The leader is fairest, But all are divine."

"All the live murmur of a summer's day."

"Tired of knocking at preferment's door."

"Rapt, twirling in thy hand a wither'd spray, And waiting for the spark from heaven to fall."

"The line of festal light in Christ-Church hall."

"But, ah! she gave me never a look, For her eyes were sealed to the holy book. Loud prays the priest; shut stands the door. Come away, children, call no more! Come away, come down, call no more!"

"All night long I lie Tossing and wakeful, and I come."

"long files of horse, they stream’d: As when, some grey November morn, the files, In marching order spread."

"When the dew glistens on the pearlèd ears, A shiver runs through the deep corn for joy."

"Fate gave, what Chance shall not control, His sad lucidity of soul."

"Children dear, was it yesterday (Call yet once) that she went away?"

"Where great whales come sailing by, Sail and sail, with unshut eye, Round the world for ever and aye. When did music come this way? Children dear, was it yesterday?"

"Children dear, was it yesterday? Children dear, were we long alone? "The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan; Long prayers," I said, "in the world they say."

"No deep the Poet sees, but wide."

"Come, dear children, let us away; Down and away below. Now my brothers call from the bay; Now the great winds shoreward blow; Now the salt tides seaward flow; Now the wild white horses play, Champ and chafe and toss in the spray. Children dear, let us away. This way, this way!"

"France, fam'd in all great arts, in none supreme."

"Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep, Where the winds are all asleep."

"Ennobling this dull pomp, the life of kings, By contemplation of diviner things."

"The will is free; Strong is the soul, and wise, and beautiful; The seeds of god-like power are in us still; Gods are we, bards, saints, heroes, if we will!"

"Ere the parting kiss be dry, Quick, thy tablets, Memory!"

"Where the spent lights quiver and gleam; Where the salt weed sways in the stream; Where the sea-beasts rang’d all round Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground."

"The World in which we live and move Outlasts aversion, outlasts love: Outlasts each effort, interest, hope, Remorse, grief, joy."

"Because thou must not dream, thou needst not then despair!"

"But be his My special thanks, whose even-balanced soul, From first youth tested up to extreme old age, Business could not make dull, nor passion wild; Who saw life steadily, and saw it whole."

"Who prop, thou ask'st in these bad days, my mind? He much, the old man, who, clearest-souled of men, Saw The Wide Prospect, and the Asian Fen, And Tmolus hill, and Smyrna bay, though blind."