Quatrains

THE BUBBLE

WHY should I stay? Nor seed nor fruit have I.
  But, sprung at once to beauty’s perfect round,
  Nor loss, nor gain, nor change in me is found,—
A life—complete in death—complete to die.

BECALMED

THE BAR is crossed; but Death—the pilot—stands      
  In seeming doubt before the tranquil deep;
The fathom-line still trembling in his hands,
  As when upon the treacherous shoals of sleep.

FAME

THEIR noonday never knows
  What names immortal are:        
’T is night alone that shows
  How star surpasseth star.