Fragment 3: Come, come thou bleak December wind
Come, come thou bleak December wind,
And blow the dry leaves from the tree!
Flash, like a Love-thought, thro' me, Death
And take a Life that wearies me.
This poem is in the public domain.
Or a Vision in a Dream. A Fragment
Late, late yestreen I saw the new Moon,
With the old Moon in her arms;
And I fear, I fear, my Master dear!
We shall have a deadly storm.
Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence
O what a life is the eye! what a strange and inscrutable essence! Him, that is utterly blind, nor glimpses the fire that warms him; Him that never beheld the swelling breast of his mother; Him that smiled in his gladness as a babe that smiles in its slumber; Even for him it exists! It moves and stirs in its prison! Lives with a separate life: and—“Is it a spirit!” he murmurs: “Sure, it has thoughts of its own, and to see is only a language!”