“Inebriate of Air — am I —And Debauchee of Dew —Reeling — thro endless summer days —From Inns of Molten Blue —”

“What inn is thisWhere for the nightPeculiar traveller comes?Who is the landlord?Where are the maids?Behold, what curious rooms!No ruddy fires on the hearth,No brimming tankards flow.Necromancer, landlord,Who are these below?”

“MY river runs to thee: Blue sea, wilt welcome me? My river waits reply. Oh sea, look graciously! I ’ll fetch thee brooks From spotted nooks,— Say, sea, Take me!”

“Forgive me if I never visit. I am from the fields, you know, and while quite at home with the dandelions, make a sorry figure in a drawing room.”

“To see the Summer SkyIs Poetry, though never in a Book it lie—True Poems flee—”

“It might be lonelierWithout the Loneliness —I'm so accustomed to my Fate —Perhaps the Other — Peace —Would interrupt the Dark —And crowd the little Room —Too scant — by Cubits — to containThe Sacrament — of Him —I am not used to Hope —It might intrude upon —Its sweet parade — blaspheme the place —Ordained to Suffering —It might be easierTo fail — with Land in Sight —Than gain — My Blue Peninsula —To perish — of Delight — F535 (1863) J405”

“Love is like the wild rose-briar;Friendship like the holly-tree.The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms,But which will bloom most constantly?The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,Its summer blossoms scent the air;Yet wait till winter comes again,And who will call the wild-briar fair?Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now,And deck thee with holly's sheen,That, when December blights thy brow,He still may leave thy garland green.”