Behold! a giant am I!
Aloft here in my tower,
With my granite jaws I devour
The maize, and the wheat, and the rye,
And grind them into flour.

I look down over the farms;
In the fields of grain I see
The harvest that is to be,
And I fling to the air my arms,
For I know it is all for me

I hear the sound of flails
Far off, from the threshing-floors
In barns, with their open doors,
And the wind, the wind in my sails,
Louder and louder roars.

I stand here in my place,
With my foot on the rock below,

Fear me, virgin whosoeverTaking pride from love exemptFear me, slighted. Never, neverBrave me, nor my fury tempt:Downy wings, but wroth they beatTempest even in reason's seat.

Behind the house the upland falls
With many an odorous tree--
White marbles gleaming through green halls,
Terrace by terrace, down and down,
And meets the starlit Mediterranean Sea.

'Tis Paradise. In such an hour
Some pangs that rend might take release.
Nor less perturbed who keeps this bower
Of balm, nor finds balsamic peace?
From whom the passionate words in vent

How many times night's silent queene her face
Hath hid, how oft with starres in siluer maske
In Heauen's great hall shee hath begunne her taske,
And chear'd the waking eye in lower place!
How oft the sunne hath made by Heauen's swift race
The happie louer to forsake the brest
Of his deare ladie, wishing in the west
His golden coach to runne had larger space!
I euer count, and number, since, alas!
I bade farewell to my heart's dearest guest,
The miles I compasse, and in minde I chase
The flouds and mountaines holde mee from my rest:

Behind the gate of light
the lady of the languishing moon,
of the echoes,
of vanishing dew,
rests.

Shall we begin at zero point?
What harm in that?
The season of creation begins in the
season of nothingness:
the arduous climb
is the beginning of the end.

Behind the gate of light the lady
of the quiescent moon
of the vanishing sunset watches
the snows about to melt while
moonrays drown in the mirror.

Show me a place where I could
lie quietly among corners
a jungle where I can take shade,

Behind him lay the gray Azores,
Behind the Gates of Hercules;
Before him not the ghost of shores,
Before him only shoreless seas.
The good mate said: " Now must we pray,
For lo! the very stars are gone.
Brave Admiral, speak, what shall I say? "
" Why, say " Sail on! sail on! and on!" "

" My men grow mutinous day by day;
My men grow ghastly wan, and weak. "
The stout mate thought of home; a spray
Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek.
" What shall I say, brave Admiral, say,
If we sight naught but seas at dawn? "

Begin the day with God;
Kneel down to Him in prayer;
Lift up thy heart to His abode
And seek His love to share.

Open the Book of God,
And read a portion there;
That it may hallow all thy thoughts
And sweeten all thy care.

Go through the day with God,
Whate'er thy work may be.
Where'er thou art—at home, abroad,
He still is near to thee.

Converse in mind with God;
Thy spirit heavenward raise;
Acknowledge every good bestowed,
And offer grateful praise.

Conclude the day with God;

. . . . . . . .
 . . . . . . . .
. . . . beggar,’ he sayes,
 ‘W i th none such fellows as thee.’

‘I am not in iest,’ said Litle Iohn,
 ‘I sweare all by the roode;
Change w i th mee,’ said Little Iohn,
 ‘And I will giue thee some boote.’

But he has gotten on this old mans gowne,
 It reacht not to his wrist;
‘Christ's curse on 's hart,’ said Litle Iohn,
 ‘That thinkes my gowne amisse.’

But he has gotten on this old mans shoes,
 Are clouted nine fold about;
‘Beshrew his hart,’ says Litle Iohn,

Before your mouth was fringed with hair,
All pricks might find a haven there,
Till hangmen loathed a boy so common,
And deadcart men preferred a woman.
When gamahuche no longer paid,
Your tongue was still your stock in trade,
No more to suck, but to discharge
Its venom on mankind at large;
On characters base slurs to fix,
As once it had polluted pricks.
Oh filthy tongue, you'd better far
Be what you were than what you are.

Before you kissed me only winds of heaven
— Had kissed me, and the tenderness of rain —
Now you have come, how can I care for kisses
Like theirs again?

I sought the sea, she sent her winds to meet me,
— They surged about me singing of the south —
I turned my head away to keep still holy
Your kiss upon my mouth.

And swift sweet rains of shining April weather
— Found not my lips where living kisses are;
I bowed my head lest they put out my glory
As rain puts out a star.

I am my love's and he is mine forever,

olivia: Before we shall again behold
In his diurnal race the world's great eye,
We may as silent be and cold
As are the shades where buried lovers lie.

endimion: Olivia, 'tis no fault of love
To lose ourselves in death, but O, I fear
When life and knowledge is above
Restored to us, I shall not know thee there.

olivia: Call it not Heaven, my love, where we
Ourselves shall see, and yet each other miss:
So much of Heaven I find in thee
As, thou unknown, all else privation is.

endimion: Why should we doubt, before we go