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?
...
This little light is not a little sign
Of duteous service innocent of blame,
Contented with obscurity till came
...
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,
...
Poet, whose unscarr'd feet have trodden Hell,
By what grim path and dread environing
Of fire couldst thou that dauntless footstep bring
...
Our crocodile, (Psammarathis,
A priest at Ombi, told me this,)
Our crocodile is good and dear,
And eats a damsel once a year.
...
I saw the youthful singers of my day
To sound of lutes and lyres in morning hours
Trampling with eager feet the teeming flowers,
...