Henry Alford Poems

The Baron is back from his hawking come,
At the close of the summer's day:
But the spots of red blood danced over his eyes
...

Speak thou the truth. Let others fence,
And trim their words for pay:
In pleasant sunshine of pretence
...

All day long the tear is swelling,
Drops, and then anew is swelling,
Constant, in its crystal dwelling.
...

I.

Ye must not die--your cheek is red,
Ye have not lost your bloom;
...

He went into the woods a laughing boy;
Each flower was in his heart; the happy bird
Flitting across the morning sun, or heard
...

Darkly the minster--towers, against the glow of the sunset,
Rise from the purple band of mist that beleaguers the city:
...

I thought, if I could go and stand
Beside our dear one's grave in Faith,
And lift the voice, and stretch the hand,
...

They saw thee kneel with lowly mien,
In faith a child, in state a queen;
No circlet girt thy marble brow
While at that altar thou didst bow;
...

The Morning arose,
She was pillow'd on snows,
And kerchief'd in wind and storm;
And she dallied with Night
...

When I paint thee what thou might'st be,
When I think on what thou art,
Trace thine image in my memory,
Search that memory through mine heart,--
...