Locksley Hall

Comrades, leave me here a little, while as yet 'tis early morn:Leave me here, and when you want me, sound upon the bugle horn.

— Locksley Hall

In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove;In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.

— Locksley Hall

Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might;Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, passed in music out of sight.

— Locksley Hall

He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force,Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse.

— Locksley Hall

Never, tho' my mortal summers to such length of years should comeAs the many-winter'd crow that leads the clanging rookery home.

— Locksley Hall

I remember one that perish'd: sweetly did she speak and move:Such a one do I remember, whom to look at was to love.

— Locksley Hall

Comfort? comfort scorn'd of devils! this is truth the poet sings,That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things.

— Locksley Hall

Like a dog, he hunts in dreams, and thou art staring at the wall,Where the dying night-lamp flickers, and the shadows rise and fall.

— Locksley Hall

O, I see thee old and formal, fitted to thy petty part,With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a daughter's heart.

— Locksley Hall

Make me feel the wild pulsation that I felt before the strife, Eager-hearted as a boy when first he leaves his father's field

— Locksley Hall

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and I linger on the shore,And the individual withers, and the world is more and more.

— Locksley Hall

Woman is the lesser man, and all thy passions, match'd with mine,Are as moonlight unto sunlight, and as water unto wine —

— Locksley Hall

There the passions cramp'd no longer shall have scope and breathing-space;I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race.

— Locksley Hall

Mated with a squalid savage — what to me were sun or clime?I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time —

— Locksley Hall

Not in vain the distance beacons. Forward, forward let us range.Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change.

— Locksley Hall

Thro' the shadow of the globe we sweep into the younger day:Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay.

— Locksley Hall

Comes a vapour from the margin, blackening over heath and holt, For the mighty wind arises, roaring seaward, and I go.

— Locksley Hall