Blow trumpet, for the world is white with May.
O last regret, regret can die!
There twice a day the Severn fills; The salt sea-water passes by, And hushes half the babbling Wye, And makes a silence in the hills.
Strong Son of God, immortal Love, Whom we, that have not seen thy face, By faith, and faith alone, embrace, Believing where we cannot prove.
Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and I linger on the shore, And the individual withers, and the world is more and more.
I will be deafer than the blue-eyed cat, And thrice as blind as any noonday owl, To holy virgins in their ecstasies.
The voice of the dead was a living voice to me.
The night comes on that knows not morn, When I shall cease to be all alone, To live forgotten, and love forlorn.
If Nature put not forth her power About the opening of the flower, Who is it that could live an hour?
His honour rooted in dishonour stood, And faith unfaithful kept him falsely true.
Man’s word is God in man.
From yon blue heaven above us bent, The grand old gardener and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent.
My mind is clouded with a doubt.
But what am I? An infant crying in the night: An infant crying for the light: And with no language but a cry.
Here at the quiet limit of the world.
Oh good gray head which all men knew!
For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid.
For now the poet cannot die, Nor leave his music as of old, But round him ere he scarce be cold Begins the scandal and the cry.
Faith lives in honest doubt.
Yonder cloud That rises upward always higher, And onward drags a laboring breast, And topples round the dreary west, A looming bastion fringed with fire.