Richard Garnett Poems

Twelve o'clock-a misty night-
Glimpsing hints of buried light-
Six years strung in an iron chain-
Time I stood on the ground again!
...

First-born and final relic of the night,
I dwell aloof in dim immensity;
The grey sky sparkles with my fairy light;
...

Soulless, colorless strain, thy words are the words of wisdom. Is not a mule a mule, bear he a burden of gold?
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This little light is not a little sign
Of duteous service innocent of blame,
Contented with obscurity till came
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I will not rail or grieve when torpid eld
Frosts the slow-journeying blood, for I shall see
The lovelier leaves hang yellow on the tree,
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Poet, whose unscarr'd feet have trodden Hell,
By what grim path and dread environing
Of fire couldst thou that dauntless footstep bring
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Our crocodile, (Psammarathis,
A priest at Ombi, told me this,)
Our crocodile is good and dear,
And eats a damsel once a year.
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I saw the youthful singers of my day
To sound of lutes and lyres in morning hours
Trampling with eager feet the teeming flowers,
...