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,

When the eye of day is shut, And the stars deny their beams, And about the forest hut Blows the roaring wood of dreams, From deep clay, from desert rock,

The time you won your town the rac… We chaired you through the market-… Man and boy stood cheering by, And home we brought you shoulder-h… To-day, the road all runners come,

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…

Horace, Odes, iv, 7 The snows are fled away, leaves on… And grasses in the mead renew thei… The river to the river-bed withdra… And altered is the fashion of the…

Leave your home behind, lad, And reach your friends your hand, And go, and luck go with you While Ludlow tower shall stand. Oh, come you home of Sunday

The fairies break their dances And leave the printed lawn, And up from India glances The silver sail of dawn. The candles burn their sockets,

On moonlit heath and lonesome bank The sheep beside me graze; And yon the gallows used to clank Fast by the four cross ways. A careless shepherd once would kee…

Loitering with a vacant eye Along the Grecian gallery, And brooding on my heavy ill, I met a statue standing still. Still in marble stone stood he,

Soldier from the wars returning, Spoiler of the taken town, Here is ease that asks not earning… Turn you in and sit you down. Peace is come and wars are over,

The street sounds to the soldiers’… And out we troop to see: A single redcoat turns his head, He turns and looks at me. My man, from sky to sky’s so far,

“Oh, sick I am to see you, will y… You may be good for something, but… Oh, go where you are wanted, for y… And that was all the farewell when… ”I will go where I am wanted, to…

‘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:

'Tis time, I think, by Wenlock to… The golden broom should blow; The hawthorn sprinkled up and down Should charge the land with snow. Spring will not wait the loiterer’…

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