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…

“Clunton and Clunbury, Clungunford and Clun, Are the quietest places Under the sun.” In valleys of springs and rivers,

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…

If in that Syrian garden, ages sl… You sleep, and know not you are de… Nor even in dreams behold how dark… Ascends in smoke and fire by day a… The hate you died to quench and co…

Westward on the high-hilled plains Where for me the world began, Still, I think, in newer veins Frets the changeless blood of man. Now that other lads than I

How clear, how lovely bright, How beautiful to sight Those beams of morning play; How heaven laughs out with glee Where, like a bird set free,

When I was one-and-twenty I heard a wise man say, “Give crowns and pounds and guinea… But not your heart away; Give pearls away and rubies

Oh who is that young sinner with t… And what has he been after that th… And wherefore is he wearing such a… Oh they’re taking him to prison fo… ‘Tis a shame to human nature, such…

These, in the day when heaven was… The hour when earth’s foundations… Followed their mercenary calling And took their wages and are dead. Their shoulders held the sky suspe…

Say, lad, have you things to do? Quick then, while your day’s at pr… Quick, and if 'tis work for two, Here am I man: now’s your time. Send me now, and I shall go;

Farewell to a name and a number Recalled again To darkness and silence and slumbe… In blood and pain. So ceases and turns to the thing

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

Far in a western brookland That bred me long ago The poplars stand and tremble By pools I used to know. There, in the windless night-time,

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

Stars, I have seen them fall, But when they drop and die No star is lost at all From all the star-sown sky. The toil of all that be