By Avignon’s dismantled walls, Where cloudless mid-March sunshin… Rhone, through broad belts of gree… Flecked with the light of almond g… Upon itself reverting, roves

Now Winter hath drifted To bygone years, And the sod is uplifted By crocus spears; And out of the hive the bee wings…

I sallied afield when the bud firs… And the sun first slanteth hotly, And I came on a yokel in cap and… And a suit of saffron motley. He was squat on a bank where a sel…

Farewell! I breathe that wonted p… But oh! though countless leagues d… Our gaze, our grasp, they shall no… My soul, my spirit, from thy side. Waking or sleeping, thou shalt own

When for a buonamano Cometh, at break of day, Knock at the terzo piano, A little voice answers, Chi è? ‘I, the facchino, awaiting

Give me a roof where Wisdom dwell… Where honeysuckle smiles and smell… A bleating flock, some lowing kine… An honest welcome always mine, A homely draught, a humble meal,

When piped the love-warm throstle… And all the air was laden With scent of dew and daffodil, I saw a youth and maiden, Whose colour, Spring-like, came a…

Hail! once again, that sweet stron… Loud on my loftiest larch, Thou quaverest with thy mottled th… Brave minstrel of bleak March! Hearing thee flute, who pines or g…

LEAVE me a little while alone, Here at his grave that still is st… With crumbling flower and wreath; The laughing rivulet leaps and fal… The thrush exults, the cuckoo call…

Where Autumn runnels fret and foa… Past banks of amber fern, Since track was none I chanced to… Along a Border burn. The rain was gone, the winds were…

Hark! In the air, around, above, The Angelic Music soars and swell… And, in the Garden that I love, I hear the sound of Christmas Bel… From hamlet hollow, village height…

Once again, banners, fly! Clang again, bells, on high, Sounding to sea and sky, Longer and louder, Mafeking’s glory with

Let the weary world go round! What care I? Life’s a surfeiting of sound: I would die. It would be so sweet to lie

Will you walk with me to the brow… Whose daughter lies in the churchy… Half a mile by the winding lane, a… There you may lean o’er the gate a… Stop and talk of her girl that is…