“A Pause of ThoughtI looked for that which is not, nor can be,And hope deferred made my heart sick in truthBut years must pass before a hope of youthIs resigned utterly.I watched and waited with a steadfast will:And though the object seemed to flee awayThat I so longed for, ever day by dayI watched and waited still.Sometimes I said: This thing shall be no more;My expectation wearies and shall cease;I will resign it now and be at peace:Yet never gave it o'er.Sometimes I said: It is an empty nameI long for; to a name why should I giveThe peace of all the days I have to live?--Yet gave it all the same.Alas, thou foolish one! alike unfitFor healthy joy and salutary pain:Thou knowest the chase useless, and againTurnest to follow it.”

“When I Am Dead, My DearestWhen I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me;Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress-tree:Be the green grass above me With showers and dewdrops wet;And if thou wilt, remember, And if thou wilt, forget.I shall not see the shadows, I shall not feel the rain;I shall not hear the nightingale Sing on, as if in pain:And dreaming through the twilight That doth not rise nor set,Haply I may remember, And haply may forget.”

“A Robin said: The Spring will never come,And I shall never care to build again.A Rosebush said: These frosts are wearisome,My sap will never stir for sun or rain.The half Moon said: These nights are fogged and slow,I neither care to wax nor care to wane.The Ocean said: I thirst from long ago,Because earth's rivers cannot fill the main. —When Springtime came, red Robin built a nest,And trilled a lover's song in sheer delight.Grey hoarfrost vanished, and the Rose with mightClothed her in leaves and buds of crimson core.The dim Moon brightened. Ocean sunned his crest,Dimpled his blue, yet thirsted evermore.”

“In an Artist’s StudioOne face looks out from all his canvases,One selfsame figure sits or walks or leans:We found her hidden just behind those screens,That mirror gave back all her loveliness.A queen in opal or in ruby dress,A nameless girl in freshest summer-greens,A saint, an angel - every canvas meansThe same one meaning, neither more nor less.He feeds upon her face by day and night,And she with true kind eyes looks back on him,Fair as the moon and joyful as the light:Not wan with waiting, not with sorrow dim;Not as she is, but was when hope shone bright;Not as she is, but as she fills his dream.”

“Yet come to me in dreams, that I may liveMy very life again though cold in death;Come back to me in dreams, that I may givePulse for pulse, breath for breath:Speak low, lean low,As long ago, my love, how long ago”

“I lock my door upon myself, And bar them out; but who shall wall Self from myself, most loathed of all?”

“He feeds upon her face by day and night,And she with true kind eyes looks back on him,Fair as the moon and joyful as the light:Not wan with waiting, not with sorrow dim;Not as she is, but was when hope shone bright;Not as she is, but as she fills his dream.”