I ‘listed at home for a lancer, Oh who would not sleep with the br… I ’listed at home for a lancer To ride on a horse to my grave. And over the seas we were bidden

When smoke stood up from Ludlow, And mist blew off from Teme, And blithe afield to ploughing Against the morning beam I strode beside my team,

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

The Grizzly Bear is huge and wild It has devoured the little child. The little child is unaware It has been eaten by the bear.

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,

The lads in their hundreds to Lud… There’s men from the barn and the… The lads for the girls and the lad… And there with the rest are the la… There’s chaps from the town and th…

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.

As through the wild green hills of… The train ran, changing sky and sh… And far behind, a fading crest, Low in the forsaken west Sank the high-reared head of Clee…

When I would muse in boyhood The wild green woods among, And nurse resolves and fancies Because the world was young, It was not foes to conquer,

Wake not for the world-heard thund… Nor the chimes that earthquakes to… Stars may plot in heaven with plan… Lightning rive the rock of granite… Tempest tread the oakwood under,

When I watch the living meet And the moving pageant file Warm and breathing through the str… Where I lodge a little while, If the heats of hate and lust

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…

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…

O thou that from thy mansion Through time and place to roam, Dost send abroad thy children, And then dost call them home, That men and tribes and nations

'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’…