Though rains of jeering pelt with hissing sneers;
Though winds of creeds their raucous bluster shout;
Though storms of sects and parties drench the land;
Though gales of a derision howl about;

He stands in windy storming—stands alone,
Whom sullen raining cannot pierce or soak;
For rooted in his faith, he calmly dons
This darkened tempest like a warming cloak.

His brow is plowed by bitterness of men,
But scourges turn to tongues of glory yet!
His back is bent with folly of the world,
Who takes his lashing for an epaulet!

Cruel, you pull away too soon your lips whenas you kiss me;
But you should hold them still, and then should you bliss me.
Now or ere I taste them,
Straight away they haste them.
But you perhaps retire them
To move my thoughts thereby the more to fire them.
Alas, such baits you need to find out never:
If you would but let me, I would kiss you ever.

On tender grass, 'neath a laurel-tree,
Who listeth to lie and drink with me?
Boy-Cupid shall come, and girding up
His light-blown robe with a hempen string,
Or flax, to his naked loins, shall bring
The wine, and bear my cup.

The life of man is a fleeting breath,
From day to day it evanisheth
Like hurrying waves that break on the shore.
Death's hour comes on … and our tomb shall keep
Nothing of us, save a nameless heap
Of little bones—no more.

I care not for custom, that bids perfume
With spices and balm my new-made tomb,

Rise from the shades below,
All you that prove
The helps of looser love;
Rise and bestow
Upon this cup whatever may compel.
By powerful charm and unresisted spell,
A heart unwarmed to melt in love's desires.
Distil into this liquor all your fires,
Heats, longings, tears,
But keep back frozen fears,
That she may know, that has all power defied,
Art is a power that will not be denied.

The time is coming & it shall come
When every fool shall have an album
& every fool who can indite for't
Shall all be hunted out to write for't
& Im the first of fools for showing
The way that others may be going

When the flaming lute-thronged angelic door is wide;
When an immortal passion breathes in mortal clay;
Our hearts endure the scourge, the plaited thorns, the way
Crowded with bitter faces, the wounds in palm and side,
The vinegar-heavy sponge, the flowers by Kedron stream;
We will bend down and loosen our hair over you,
That it may drop faint perfume, and be heavy with dew,
Lilies of death-pale hope, roses of passionate dream.

Stanley, by scientific thirst led forth
To visit distant regions of the North!
Who, noble curiosity to please,
Employ your fortune, sacrifice your ease:
Without the means, though some like ardour feel,
How many have the means, but want the zeal:
Ah doubly and deserv'dly happy you,
Who to the pow'r add inclination too!
Possess'd of fortune, thus to be inclin'd
Befits your station, more befits your mind.
What will not they forego, what not endure,
Who seek with ardour knowledge to procure?
Pursuing this, all pleasures mean appear,

While , flushing o'er thy thy olive cheek,
Like the morning's dubious break,
Virgin Shame delights to spread
Her roses of a deeper red;
And those ruddy lips of thine
Emulate the bleeding vine;
Think'st thou C ÆLIA'S languid white
Can allure my roving sight?
Or my bosom catch a glow
From that chilling form of snow?
In those orbs, oh nymph divine!
Stars may well be said to shine,
Stars, whose pointed rays, are made
More brilliant, by surrounding shade;
Shade, thy raven-locks supply,
To relieve my dazzled eye!
Trust me, thy transcendant face

I THANK you, kind and best belovëd friend,
With the same thanks one murmurs to a sister,
When, for some gentle favor, he hath kissed her,
Less for the gifts than for the love you send,
Less for the flowers than what the flowers convey,
If I, indeed, divine their meaning truly,
And not unto myself ascribe, unduly,
Things which you neither meant nor wished to say,
Oh! tell me, is the hope then all misplaced?
And am I flattered by my own affection?
But in your beauteous gift, methought I traced
Something above a short-lived predilection,

His face is like a dragon
His a-se is like a frog
At heart a mere piegon
In manner quite a hog.