and go

I, who all my life had hurried,
I, who have lost the stars, the
sod,

I will arise and go now,
to Innisfree,

I will confront Death smiling,
and no tremor

I will lift up mine eyes unto
the hills,

Idle to grieve when the stars
are clear above me,

If grief should come to me

If I have faltered more or less
If I were Lord of Tartary,
If you want a receipt for that
popular mystery,

I'm nobody! Who are you?
In Cawsand Bay lying,

In men whom men condemn as
ill

In the darkening church

In the late evening, when the
house is still,

In this imperfect, gloomy scene
In this wide Inland sea, that
hight by name

Into the loud surf,

Into the woods my Master
went,

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

I'se de niggah, I'se de niggah;
It fortifies my soul to know
It is an August evening in a
free roof-garden built for the

My heart aches, and a drowsy
numbness pains

My house is small,

My little dog:

My little Son, who look'd from
thoughtful eyes

My nosegays are for cap-
tives;

My own hope is, a sun will
pierce

My soul is an enchanted boat,
No coward soul is mine,
Not our good luck nor the in-
stant peak and fulfillment of
time

Now all the truth is out,
Now do I hear thee weep and
groan,

Now, think you, Life, I am de-
feated quite?

O come, let us sing unto the
Lord:

O happy living things! no
tongue

O joy of suffering!

O my Luve's like a red, red

rose

O soft embalmer of the still
midnight!

O the joy of my spirit! it
is uncaged! it darts like light-
ning!

Of all of the gruesome attempts
at a twosome

Of every step I took in pain
Of my city the worst that men
will ever say is this:
Of wounds and sore defeat
Off with the fetters

Oft on a Plat of rising ground,
Oh, it is good to camp with
the spirit,

Oh lift me as a wave, a leaf,
a cloud!

Oh, the wild joys of living!
the leaping from rock up to
rock,

Old cypresses

On a Poet's lips I slept

On opal Aprilian mornings like
this

On the day when I stopped
begging at the heels of Life,
Once more into the breach,
dear friends, once more;
One more Unfortunate,

One word is too often pro-
faned

Out from the whirl of factional
unrest,

Out of my sorrow

Out of the Eden of my love,
Out of the four and twenty
hours,

Out of the night that covers
me,

Out-worn Heart, in a time out-
worn,

Over the shoulders and slopes

of the dune

Passage to India!