West and away the wheels of darkne… Day’s beamy banner up the east is… Spectres and fears, the nightmare… Drown in the golden deluge of the… But over sea and continent from si…

In summertime on Bredon The bells they sound so clear; Round both the shires they ring th… In steeples far and near, A happy noise to hear.

If by chance your eye offend you, Pluck it out, lad, and be sound: 'Twill hurt, but here are salves t… And many a balsam grows on ground. And if your hand or foot offend yo…

He stood, and heard the steeple Sprinkle the quarters on the morni… One, two, three, four, to market-p… It tossed them down. Strapped, noosed, nighing his hour…

‘Tis five years since, ’An end,'… 'I’ll march no further, time to di… All’s lost; no worse has heaven to… Worse has it given, and yet I liv… I shall not die to-day, no fear:

The Sun at noon to higher air, Unharnessing the silver Pair That late before his chariot swam, Rides on the gold wool of the Ram… So braver notes the storm-cock sin…

Good creatures, do you love your l… And have you ears for sense? Here is a knife like other knives, That cost me eighteen pence. I need but stick it in my heart

At the door of my own little hovel… Reading a novel I sat; And as I was reading the novel A gnat flew away with my hat. As fast as a fraudulent banker

The world goes none the lamer For ought that I can see, Because this cursed trouble Has struck my days and me. The stars of heaven are steady,

Twice a week the winter thorough Here stood I to keep the goal: Football then was fighting sorrow For the young man’s soul. Now in Maytime to the wicket

'Tis spring; come out to ramble The hilly brakes around, For under thorn and bramble About the hollow ground The primroses are found.

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough… And stands about the woodland ride Wearing white for Eastertide. Now, of my threescore years and te…

This time of year a twelvemonth pa… When Fred and I would meet, We needs must jangle, till at last We fought and I was beat. So then the summer fields about,

Think no more, lad; laugh, be joll… Why should men make haste to die? Empty heads and tongues a-talking Make the rough road easy walking, And the feather pate of folly

The laws of God, the laws of man, He may keep that will and can; Not I: let God and man decree Laws for themselves and not for me… And if my ways are not as theirs