I learnt to write to you in happie… And every letter was a piece I ch… From off my heart, a fragment newl… From the mosaic of life; its blues… Its throbbing reds, I gave to ear…

All day long I have been working, Now I am tired I call: “Where are you?” But there is only the oak-tree rus… The house is very quiet,

“So . . .” they said, With their wine-glasses delicately… Mocking at the thing they cannot u… “So . . .” they said again, Amused and insolent.

Be not angry with me that I bear Your colours everywhere, All through each crowded street, And meet The wonder-light in every eye,

High up in the apple tree climbing… With the sky above me, the earth b… Each branch is the step of a wonde… Which leads to the town I see shi… Climbing, climbing, higher and hig…

Frindsbury, Kent, 1786 Bang! Bang! Tap! Tap-a-tap! Rap!

I own a solace shut within my hear… A garden full of many a quaint del… And warm with drowsy, poppied suns… Flaming with lilies out of whose c… Shining things

What is poetry? Is it a mosaic Of coloured stones which curiously… Into a pattern? Rather glass that… By patient labor any hue to take And glowing with a sumptuous splen…

When you, my Dear, are away, away… How wearily goes the creeping day. A year drags after morning, and ni… Starts another year of candle ligh… O Pausing Sun and Lingering Moon…

The Poet took his walking-stick Of fine and polished ebony. Set in the close-grained wood Were quaint devices; Patterns in ambers,

When I looked into your eyes, I saw a garden With peonies, and tinkling pagodas… And round-arched bridges Over still lakes.

Leisure, thou goddess of a bygone… When hours were long and days suff… Wide-eyed delights and pleasures u… By shortening moments, when no gau… Of undone duties, modern heritage,

Why do the lilies goggle their ton… When I pluck them; And writhe and twist, And strangle themselves against my… So that I can hardly weave the ga…

I wandered through a house of many… It grew darker and darker, Until, at last, I could only find… By passing my fingers along the wa… Suddenly my hand shot through an o…

Thou yellow trumpeter of laggard… Thou herald of rich Summer’s myri… The climbing sun with new recovere… Does warm thee into being, through… Of rich, brown earth he woos thee,…