The city is built To music, therefore never built at all, And therefore built forever.

Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, oh sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me.

I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley.

The year is dying in the night.

I will be deafer than the blue-eyed cat, And thrice as blind as any noonday owl, To holy virgins in their ecstasies.

And sometimes through the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two.

O love, O fire! once he drew With one long kiss my whole soul through My lips, as sunlight drinketh dew.