English

Old minster, when my years were few,
And life seemed endless to the boy;
Clear yet and vivid is the joy
With which I gazed and thought on you.

Thin shaft and flower-wrought capital,
High-springing arch, and blazoned pane,
Quaint gurgoyles stretching heads profane,
And stately throne and carven stall.

The long nave lost in vaporous gray,
The mailed recumbent forms which wait,
In mockery of earthly state,
The coming of the dreadful day.

The haunted aisles, the gathering gloom,

Not on the river plains
Wilt thou breathe loving air,
O mountain spirit fine!
Here the calm soul maintains
Calm: but no joy like thine,
On hill-tops bleak and bare,
Whose breath is fierce and rare.

Were beauty all thy need,
Here were an haunt for thee.
The broad laborious weald,
An eye's delight indeed,
Spreads from rich field to field:
And full streams wander free
Under the alder tree.

Throw thee upon the grass,
The daisied grass, and gaze
Far to the warm blue mist:

Walk softly through the moonlight,
Softly, lest the sound
Startle the silver on your ankle
And strew it ash-like on the ground.

If you have burning in you
A tinge of thought more bright
Than is the moonlight's sulphur color,
Do not walk tonight.

They walk best in moonlight
Who borrow for their own
The passion of the moon to keep them
Impersonal as stone.

They who walk in moonlight
Should be so drunk with death
They pour themselves out in libation,
Breath on radiant breath.

Lady, for the love of God,
Have some pity upon me!
See my eyes, a river-flood
Day and night, oh, see!
Brothers, cousins, uncles, all,
Have I lost for thee;
If thou dost not me recall,

In a world like this,
When in misanthropic,
Cheerless mood, I wis,
Tired I take my flight,
Far from Love's warm tropic,—
Then I fret and sigh:
Better 'tis to die
Than to fawn and follow
With false look submiss,
Meeting day and night
Heartless hearts and hollow,
In a world like this.

In a world like this,
Trade's a daily duel,
If your aim you miss;
And I hear them say:
“Woods are made for fuel,
Not for poets' nooks,
Day-dreams, birds and brooks;
Bees are but for honey;

One misty, moisty morning,
When cloudy was the weather,
I met a little old man
Clothed all in leather.

He began to compliment,
And I began to grin,
How do you do, and how do you do,
And how do you do again?

I pray to my soul.
I lock out the priest, I prohibit God, I forget how to read the books,
I refuse all presences but that presence which issues in my self.
My self alone in prayer to my self alone.

I pray to my soul
I pray to be saved from all narrowness of self,
I pray to be saved from all breadth of self,
I pray to be saved from the pertinence of my body,
I pray to be saved from the invisibility of my soul,
I pray to be saved from that which saves and that which damns,
I pray to be saved from light and from darkness,

Polytinus? Chases girls to find a mate;
Hypnus? He thinks his boyhood infra-dig;
Secundus? Buttocks like a peach-fed pig;
Dindymus? Hates to seem effeminate;
Amphion? Could have been a girl from birth.
The charms, the pride, the petulant display
Of these five boys to my mind far outweigh
The golden dowry that a bride is worth.

O Goddess, on whose steps attend
Pleasure and laughter-loving H EALTH ,
White-mantled P EACE with olive-wand,
Young J OY , and diamond-sceptred Wealth ,
Blithe P LENTY with her loaded horn,
With S CIENCE bright-ey'd as the morn,
In Britain, which for ages past
Has been thy choicest darling care,
Who mad'st her wise, and strong, and fair,
May thy best blessings ever laft.

For thee the pining pris'ner mourns,
Depriv'd of food, of mirth, of light;
For thee pale slaves to galleys chain'd,