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…

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

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

“Is my team ploughing, That I was used to drive And hear the harness jingle When I was man alive?” Ay, the horses trample,

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.

Star and coronal and bell April underfoot renews, And the hope of man as well Flowers among the morning dews. Now the old come out to look,

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.

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 the idle hill of summer, Sleepy with the flow of streams, Far I hear the steady drummer Drumming like a noise in dreams. Far and near and low and louder

High the vanes of Shrewsbury glea… Islanded in Severn stream; The bridges from the steepled cres… Cross the water east and west. The flag of morn in conqueror’s st…

Look not in my eyes, for fear Thy mirror true the sight I see, And there you find your face too c… And love it and be lost like me. One the long nights through must l…

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

Tell me not here, it needs not say… What tune the enchantress plays In aftermaths of soft September Or under blanching mays, For she and I were long acquainte…

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…

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