The hill pines were sighing, O'ercast and chill was the day; A mist in the valley lying Blotted the pleasant May. — Robert Bridges Copy Share Image
The lonely season in lonely lands, when fled Are half the birds, and mists lie low, and the sun Is rarely seen, nor strayeth far from his bed; The short days pass unwelcomed one by one. — Robert Bridges Copy Share Image
But I can tell - let truth be told - That love will change in growing old; Though day by day is nought to… — Robert Bridges Copy Share Image
Beauty is the highest of all these occult influences, the quality of appearances that thru' the sense wakeneth spiritual emotion in the mind of… — Robert Bridges Copy Share Image
The hill pines were sighing, O'ercast and chill was the day; A mist in the valley lying Blotted the pleasant May. — Robert Bridges Copy Share Image
Were I a cloud I'd gather My skirts up in the air, And fly well know whither, And rest I well know where. — Robert Bridges Copy Share Image
The name of happiness is but a wider termfor the unalloy'd conditions of the Pleasur of Life,attendant on all function, and not to be… — Robert Bridges Copy Share Image
When first we met we did not guess that Love would prove so hard a master. — Robert Bridges Copy Share Image
Nature hav no music; nor would ther be for theeany better melody in the April woods at dawnthan what an old stone-deaf labourer, lying… — Robert Bridges Copy Share Image
Our stability is but balance, and conduct lies In masterful administration of the unforseen. — Robert Bridges Copy Share Image
Man's Reason is in such deep insolvency to sense,that tho' she guide his highest flight heav'nward, and teach himdignity morals manners and human comfort,she… — Robert Bridges Copy Share Image
Poetry's magic lies in the imagery which satifies even without interpretation..it is accepted as easily as it was created. — Robert Bridges Copy Share Image
Whither, O splendid ship, thy white sails crowding,Leaning across the bosom of the urgent West,That fearest nor sea rising, nor sky clouding,Whither away, fair… — Robert Bridges Copy Share Image
And whiter grows the foam, The small moon lightens more; And as I turn me home, My shadow walks before. — Robert Bridges Copy Share Image
There is a hill beside the silver Thames, Shady with birch and beech and odorous pine; And brilliant underfoot with thousand gems, Steeply the… — Robert Bridges Copy Share Image
