Melodious Pain

Thy spirit's sister, the lorn nightingale,     Mourns not her mate with such melodious pain; -Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822), Adonais

Blue Star

His head was bound with pansies overblown,     And faded violets, white and pied and blue; -Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822), Adonais

Call of the Ocean

Sunset and evening star,     And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar,     When I put out to sea, -Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892), Crossing the Bar

Solitary Way

Whither, 'midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue     Thy solitary way? -William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878), To a Waterfowl

Fishman

Seek'st thou the plashy brink Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, Or where the rocking billows rise and sink     On the chafed ocean side? -William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878), To a Waterfowl

When I Embark

Twilight and evening bell,     And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell,     When I embark; For though from out our bourne of Time and Place     The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face     When I have crossed the bar. -Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892), Crossing the Bar

Mirrors of Fire

That light whose smile kindles the universe,         That beauty in which all things work and move,     That benediction which the eclipsing curse         Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love         Which, through the web of being blindly wove     By man and beast and earth and air and sea,         Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of     The fire for which all thirst, now beams on me, Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality. -Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822), Adonais

Weight of the Hour

A pard-like Spirit beautiful and swift--         A love in desolation masked--a power     Girt round with weakness; it can scarce uplift         The weight of the superincumbent hour.         It is a dying lamp, a falling shower,     A breaking billow;--even whilst we speak         Is it not broken? On the withering flower     The killing sun smiles brightly: on a cheek The life can burn in blood even while the heart may break. -Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822), Adonais

Pursuit

Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose! I never thought to ask, I never knew: But, in my simple ignorance, suppose The self-same Power that brought me there brought you. -Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882), The Rhodora On Being Asked, Whence is The Flower?

Wings

They reckon ill who leave me out;     When me they fly, I am the wings; I am the doubter and the doubt,     And I the hymn the Brahmin sings. -Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882), Brahma

Last Light

And while in life's late afternoon,     Where cool and long the shadows grow, I walk to meet the night that soon     Shall shape and shadow overflow, I cannot feel that thou art far, Since near at need the angels are; -John Greenleaf Whittier (1807 - 1892), Snow-Bound; A Winter Idyl

Beckoning Hand

And when the sunset gates unbar,     Shall I not see thee waiting stand, And, white against the evening star,     The welcome of thy beckoning hand? -John Greenleaf Whittier (1807 - 1892), Snow-Bound; A Winter Idyl

Western Wave

Swiftly walk o'er the western wave,     Spirit of Night! Out of the misty eastern cave, Where, all the long and lone daylight, Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear, Which make thee terrible and dear,--     Swift by thy flight! -Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822), To Night