“THOU wast all that to me, love, For which my soul did pine: A green isle in the sea, love, A fountain and a shrine All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers, And all the flowers were mine. Ah, dream too bright to last! Ah, starry Hope, that didst arise But to be overcast! A voice from out the Future cries, "On! on!"—but o'er the Past (Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies Mute, motionless, aghast. For, alas! alas! with me The light of Life is o'er! No more—no more—no more— (Such language holds the solemn sea To the sands upon the shore) Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree, Or the stricken eagle soar. And all my days are trances, And all my nightly dreams Are where thy gray eye glances, And where thy footstep gleams— In what ethereal dances, By what eternal streams.”

“And all my days are trances,And all my nightly dreamsAre where thy dark eye glances,And where thy footstep gleams--In what ethereal dances,By what eternal streams!”

“Have I no harvest but a thorn   To let me bloud, and not restoreWhat I have lost with cordiall fruit? Sure there was wine   Before my sighs did drie it: there was corn   Before my tears did drown it.   Is the yeare onely lost to me?   Have I no bayes to crown it?No flowers, no garlands gay? all blasted? All wasted?   Not so, my heart: but there is fruit, And thou hast hands.   Recover all thy sigh-blown ageOn double pleasures: leave thy cold disputeOf what is fit, and not. Forsake thy cage, Thy rope of sands,Which pettie thoughts have made, and made to thee   Good cable, to enforce and draw, And be thy law,   While thou didst wink and wouldst not see.”

“Love, is it morning risen or night deceasedThat makes the mirth of this triumphant east?Is it bliss given or bitterness put byThat makes most glad men's hearts at love's high feast?Grief smiles, joy weeps, that day should live and die."Is it with soul's thirst or with body's drouthThat summer yearns out sunward to the south,With all the flowers that when thy birth drew nighWere molten in one rose to make thy mouth?O love, what care though day should live and die?"Is the sun glad of all love on earth,The spirit and sense and work of things and worth?Is the moon sad because the month must flyAnd bring her death that can but bring back birth?For all these things as day must live and die."Love, is it day that makes thee thy delightOr thou that seest day made out of thy light?Love, as the sun and sea are thou and I,Sea without sun dark, sun without sea bright;The sun is one though day should live and die."O which is elder, night or light, who knows?And life or love, which first of these twain grows?For life is born of love to wail and cry,And love is born of life to heal his woes,And light of night, that day should live and die."O sun of heaven above the wordly sea,O very love, what light is this of thee!My sea of soul is deep as thou art high,But all thy light is shed through all of me,As love's through love, while day shall live and die.”

“Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayerThan this world dreams of: Wherefore, let thy voice,Rise like a fountain for me night and day.”

“O all fair lovers about the world,There is none of you, none, that shall comfort me. My thoughts are as dead things, wrecked and whirledRound and round in a gulf of the sea;And still, through the sound and the straining stream,Through the coil and chafe, they gleam in a dream,The bright fine lips so cruelly curled, And strange swift eyes where the soul sits free.”