‘Lady Clara Vere de Vere’ (1842) st. 1
From yon blue heavens above us bent The gardener Adam and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent. Howe’er it be, it seems to me,
’Tis only noble to be good.
Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood.
‘Lady Clara Vere de Vere’ (1842) st. 7
On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky; And through the field the road runs by To many-towered Camelot.
‘The Lady of Shalott’ (1832, revised 1842) pt. 1
Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver.
‘The Lady of Shalott’ (1832, revised 1842) pt. 1
Only reapers, reaping early In among the bearded barley,
Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly, Down to towered Camelot.
‘The Lady of Shalott’ (1832, revised 1842) pt. 1
Or when the moon was overhead, Came two young lovers lately wed; ‘I am half sick of shadows,’ said The Lady of Shalott.
‘The Lady of Shalott’ (1832, revised 1842) pt. 2
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley-sheaves,
The sun came dazzling through the leaves, And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneeled To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott.
‘The Lady of Shalott’ (1832, revised 1842) pt. 3
All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewelled shone the saddle-leather, The helmet and the helmet-feather Burned like one burning flame together, As he rode down to Camelot.
‘The Lady of Shalott’ (1832, revised 1842) pt. 3
She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room, She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume, She looked down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror cracked from side to side; ‘The curse is come upon me,’ cried The Lady of Shalott.
‘The Lady of Shalott’ (1832, revised 1842) pt. 3
Slander, meanest spawn of Hell.
‘The Letters’ (1855)
Airy, fairy Lilian.
‘Lilian’ (1830)
In the spring a livelier iris changes on the burnished dove;
In the spring a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.
‘Locksley Hall’ (1842) l. 19
And our spirits rushed together at the touching of the lips.
‘Locksley Hall’ (1842) l. 38
He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force, Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse.
‘Locksley Hall’ (1842) l. 49
This is truth the poet sings,
That a sorrow’s crown of sorrow is remembering happier things.
‘Locksley Hall’ (1842) l. 75.
Like a dog, he hunts in dreams.
‘Locksley Hall’ (1842) l. 79
But the jingling of the guinea helps the hurt that Honour feels.
‘Locksley Hall’ (1842) l. 105
Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new: That which they have done but earnest of the things that they shall do:
For I dipped into the future, far as human eye could see,
Saw the vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be;
Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic sails,
Pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down with costly bales;
Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rained a ghastly dew From the nations’ airy navies grappling in the central blue;
Far along the world-wide whisper of the south-wind rushing warm, With the standards of the peoples plunging through the thunder-storm;
Till the war-drum throbbed no longer, and the battle-flags were furled
In the Parliament of man, the Federation of the world.
‘Locksley Hall’ (1842) l. 117
Science moves, but slowly slowly, creeping on from point to point.
‘Locksley Hall’ (1842) l. 134
Yet I doubt not through the ages one increasing purpose runs, And the thoughts of men are widened with the process of the suns.
‘Locksley Hall’ (1842) l. 137
Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers.
‘Locksley Hall’ (1842) l. 141
I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race.
‘Locksley Hall’ (1842) l. 168
I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time.
‘Locksley Hall’ (1842) l. 178
Forward, forward let us range,
Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change.
‘Locksley Hall’ (1842) l. 181
Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay.
‘Locksley Hall’ (1842) l. 184
Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes.
‘The Lotos-Eaters’ (1832) Choric Song, st. 1
There is no joy but calm!
‘The Lotos-Eaters’ (1832) Choric Song, st. 2
Death is the end of life; ah, why Should life all labour be?
‘The Lotos-Eaters’ (1832) Choric Song, st. 4
Live and lie reclined
On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind. For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurled
Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly curled Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world.
‘The Lotos-Eaters’ (1832) Choric Song, st. 8 (1842 revision)
Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the shore
Than labour in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave and oar; Oh rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more.
‘The Lotos-Eaters’ (1832) Choric Song, st. 8
I saw the flaring atom-streams And torrents of her myriad universe, Ruining along the illimitable inane.
‘Lucretius’ (1868) l. 38
Nor at all can tell
Whether I mean this day to end myself, Or lend an ear to Plato where he says,
That men like soldiers may not quit the post Allotted by the Gods.
‘Lucretius’ (1868) l. 145
Passionless bride, divine Tranquillity, Yearned after by the wisest of the wise, Who fail to find thee, being as thou art Without one pleasure and without one pain.
‘Lucretius’ (1868) l. 265
Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange. She only said, ‘My life is dreary, He cometh not,’ she said;
She said, ‘I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!’
Her tears fell with the dews at even;
Her tears fell ere the dews were dried.
‘Mariana’ (1830) st. 1.
Faultily faultless, icily regular, splendidly null, Dead perfection, no more.
‘Maud’ (1855) pt. 1, sect. 2
The passionate heart of the poet is whirled into folly and vice.
‘Maud’ (1855) pt. 1, sect. 4, st. 7
And most of all would I flee from the cruel madness of love, The honey of poison-flowers and all the measureless ill.
‘Maud’ (1855) pt. 1, sect. 4, st. 10
That jewelled mass of millinery, That oiled and curled Assyrian Bull.
‘Maud’ (1855) pt. 1, sect. 6, st. 6
She came to the village church, And sat by a pillar alone;
An angel watching an urn Wept over her, carved in stone.
‘Maud’ (1855) pt. 1, sect. 8
I heard no longer
The snowy-banded, dilettante, Delicate-handed priest intone.
‘Maud’ (1855) pt. 1, sect. 8
Ah God, for a man with heart, head, hand, Like some of the simple great ones gone For ever and ever by,
One still strong man in a blatant land, Whatever they call him, what care I, Aristocrat, democrat, autocrat—one Who can rule and dare not lie.
‘Maud’ (1855) pt. 1, sect. 10, st. 5
I kissed her slender hand, She took the kiss sedately; Maud is not seventeen, But she is tall and stately.
‘Maud’ (1855) pt. 1, sect. 12, st. 4
Gorgonised me from head to foot With a stony British stare.
‘Maud’ (1855) pt. 1, sect. 13, st. 2
A livelier emerald twinkles in the grass, A purer sapphire melts into the sea.
‘Maud’ (1855) pt. 1, sect. 18, st. 6
Come into the garden, Maud,
For the black bat, night, has flown, Come into the garden, Maud,
I am here at the gate alone;
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, And the musk of the rose is blown.
For a breeze of morning moves, And the planet of Love is on high,
Beginning to faint in the light that she loves
On a bed of daffodil sky.
‘Maud’ (1855) pt. 1, sect. 22, st. 1
All night has the casement jessamine stirred To the dancers dancing in tune;
Till a silence fell with the waking bird,
And a hush with the setting moon.
‘Maud’ (1855) pt. 1, sect. 22, st. 3
Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls.
‘Maud’ (1855) pt. 1, sect. 22, st. 9
There has fallen a splendid tear From the passion-flower at the gate. She is coming, my dove, my dear; She is coming, my life, my fate;
The red rose cries, ‘She is near, she is near;’ And the white rose weeps, ‘She is late;’ The larkspur listens, ‘I hear, I hear;’
And the lily whispers, ‘I wait.’
She is coming, my own, my sweet; Were it ever so airy a tread,
My heart would hear her and beat, Were it earth in an earthy bed; My dust would hear her and beat; Had I lain for a century dead;
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red.
‘Maud’ (1855) pt. 1, sect. 22, st. 10
O that ’twere possible After long grief and pain
To find the arms of my true love Round me once again!
‘Maud’ (1855) pt. 2, sect. 4, st. 1
But the churchmen fain would kill their church, As the churches have killed their Christ.
‘Maud’ (1855) pt. 2, sect. 5, st. 2
O me, why have they not buried me deep enough? Is it kind to have made me a grave so rough,
Me, that was never a quiet sleeper?
‘Maud’ (1855) pt. 2, sect. 5, st. 11
My life has crept so long on a broken wing Through cells of madness, haunts of horror and fear, That I come to be grateful at last for a little thing.
‘Maud’ (1855) pt. 3, sect. 6, st. 1
When the face of night is fair on the dewy downs, And the shining daffodil dies.
‘Maud’ (1855) pt. 3, sect. 6, st. 1
The blood-red blossom of war with a heart of fire.
‘Maud’ (1855) pt. 3, sect. 6, st. 4
It is better to fight for the good, than to rail at the ill;
I have felt with my native land, I am one with my kind, I embrace the purpose of God, and the doom assigned.
‘Maud’ (1855) pt. 3, sect. 6, st. 5
You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear; Tomorrow ’ill be the happiest time of all the glad New-year; Of all the glad New-year, mother, the maddest merriest day;
For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.
‘The May Queen’ (1832)
Launch your vessel, And crowd your canvas, And, ere it vanishes Over the margin,
After it, follow it, Follow The Gleam.
‘Merlin and The Gleam’ (1889) st. 9
O mighty-mouthed inventor of harmonies, O skilled to sing of time or eternity, God-gifted organ-voice of England, Milton, a name to resound for ages.
‘Milton: Alcaics’ (1863)
All that bowery loneliness,
The brooks of Eden mazily murmuring.
‘Milton: Alcaics’ (1863)
But I knaw’d a Quaäker feller as often ’as towd ma this: ‘Doänt thou marry for munny, but goä wheer munny is!’
‘Northern Farmer. New Style’ (1869) st. 5
Taäke my word for it, Sammy, the poor in a loomp is bad.
‘Northern Farmer. New Style’ (1869) st. 12
The last great Englishman is low.
‘Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington’ (1852) st. 3
O good grey head which all men knew!
‘Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington’ (1852) st. 4
O fall’n at length that tower of strength
Which stood four-square to all the winds that blew!
‘Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington’ (1852) st. 4
That world-earthquake, Waterloo!
‘Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington’ (1852) st. 6
Who never sold the truth to serve the hour, Nor paltered with Eternal God for power.
‘Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington’ (1852) st. 7
Naked they came to that smooth-swarded bower, And at their feet the crocus brake like fire, Violet, amaracus, and asphodel,
Lotos and lilies.
‘Oenone’ (1832, revised 1842) l. 92
I built my soul a lordly pleasure-house, Wherein at ease for aye to dwell.
‘The Palace of Art’ (1832) st. 1
Still as, while Saturn whirls, his steadfast shade Sleeps on his luminous ring.
‘The Palace of Art’ (1832) st. 4
An English home—grey twilight poured On dewy pasture, dewy trees,
Softer than sleep—all things in order stored, A haunt of ancient Peace.
‘The Palace of Art’ (1832) st. 22
Vex not thou the poet’s mind With thy shallow wit:
Vex not thou the poet’s mind; For thou canst not fathom it.
‘The Poet’s Mind’ (1830)
With prudes for proctors, dowagers for deans, And sweet girl-graduates in their golden hair.
‘The Princess’ (1847) ‘Prologue’ l. 141
And blessings on the falling out That all the more endears,
When we fall out with those we love And kiss again with tears!
‘The Princess’ (1847) pt. 2, song (added 1850)
A classic lecture, rich in sentiment, With scraps of thundrous epic lilted out By violet-hooded Doctors, elegies
And quoted odes, and jewels five-words-long, That on the stretched forefinger of all Time Sparkle for ever.
‘The Princess’ (1847) pt. 2, l. 352
Sweet and low, sweet and low,
Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea! Over the rolling waters go,
Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me;
While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.
‘The Princess’ (1847) pt. 3, song (added 1850)
The splendour falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going! O sweet and far from cliff and scar
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
‘The Princess’ (1847) pt. 4, song (added 1850)
O love, they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river: Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow for ever and for ever.
‘The Princess’ (1847) pt. 4, song (added 1850)
Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy autumn-fields, And thinking of the days that are no more.
‘The Princess’ (1847) pt. 4, l. 21, song (added 1850)
So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
‘The Princess’ (1847) pt. 4, l. 30, song (added 1850)
Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds
To dying ears, when unto dying eyes
The casement slowly grows a glimmering square; So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.
Dear as remembered kisses after death,
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned On lips that are for others; deep as love,
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;
O Death in Life, the days that are no more.
‘The Princess’ (1847) pt. 4, l. 31, song (added 1850)
O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South, Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves, And tell her, tell her, what I tell to thee.
O tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each, That bright and fierce and fickle is the South,
And dark and true and tender is the North.
‘The Princess’ (1847) pt. 4, l. 75, song (added 1850)
O tell her, Swallow, that thy brood is flown: Say to her, I do but wanton in the South, But in the North long since my nest is made.
‘The Princess’ (1847) pt. 4, l. 90, song (added 1850)
Man is the hunter; woman is his game:
The sleek and shining creatures of the chase, We hunt them for the beauty of their skins; They love us for it, and we ride them down.
‘The Princess’ (1847) pt. 5, l. 147
Home they brought her warrior dead. She nor swooned, nor uttered cry: All her maidens, watching said, ‘She must weep or she will die.’
‘The Princess’ (1847) pt. 6, song (added 1850)
Rose a nurse of ninety years, Set his child upon her knee—
Like summer tempest came her tears— ‘Sweet my child, I live for thee.’
‘The Princess’ (1847) pt. 6, song (added 1850)
The woman is so hard Upon the woman.
‘The Princess’ (1847) pt. 6, l. 205
Ask me no more: what answer should I give? I love not hollow cheek or faded eye:
Yet, O my friend, I will not have thee die! Ask me no more, lest I should bid thee live.
‘The Princess’ (1847) pt. 7, song (added 1850)
Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white; Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk; Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font:
