Oh, see how thick the goldcup flow… Are lying in field and lane, With dandelions to tell the hours That never are told again. Oh may I squire you round the mea…

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…

Crossing alone the nighted ferry With the one coin for fee, Whom, on the wharf of Lethe waiti… Count you to find? Not me. The brisk fond lackey to fetch and…

When the lad for longing sighs, Mute and dull of cheer and pale, If at death’s own door he lies, Maiden, you can heal his ail. Lovers’ ills are all to buy:

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…

The lad came to the door at night, When lovers crown their vows, And whistled soft and out of sight In shadow of the boughs. “I shall not vex you with my face

The vane on Hughley steeple Veers bright, a far-known sign, And there lie Hughley people And there lie friends of mine. Tall in their midst the tower

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

Be still, my soul, be still; the a… Earth and high heaven are fixt of… Think rather,—call to thought, if… The days when we had rest, O soul… Men loved unkindness then, but lig…

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

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…

The rainy Pleiads wester, Orion plunges prone, The stroke of midnight ceases And I lie down alone. The rainy Pleiads wester,

In my own shire, if I was sad, Homely comforters I had: The earth, because my heart was so… Sorrowed for the son she bore; And standing hills, long to remain…

The stinging nettle only Will still be found to stand: The numberless, the lonely, The thronger of the land, The leaf that hurts the hand.