Here is the height of land: The watershed on either hand Goes down to Hudson Bay Or Lake Superior; The stars are up, and far away

I THOUGHT of death beside the… That went beyond the limit of my s… Seeming the image of his mastery, The semblance of his huge and gloo… But firm beneath the sea went the…

THE slender moon and one pale sta… A rose leaf and a silver bee From some god’s garden blown afar, Go down the gold deep tranquilly. Within the south there rolls and g…

I gave her a rose in early June, Fed with the sun and the dew, Each petal I said is a note in th… The rose is the whole tune through… The tune is the whole red-hearted…

O noble youth that held our honour… And bore it sacred through the bat… How shall we give full measure of… To thy sharp labour, thy immortal… For though we sowed with doubtful…

O turn once more! The meadows where we mused and str… Abound and glow yet with the ruby… ’Twas there the bluebirds fought a… Their quarrel was a flying bluebir…

At Bethlehem upon the hill, The day was done, the night was ni… The dusk was deep and had its will… The stars were very small and stil… Like unblown tapers, faint and hig…

The sunset colours mingle in the s… And over all the Umbrian valleys… Trevi is touched with wonder, and… Finds high Perugia crimson with r… Spello is bright;

This is not June,—by Autumn’s str… Thou hast been ambushed in the chi… Upon thy fragile crest virginal fa… The rime has clustered in a diadem… The early frost

All my life long I heard the step Of some one I would know, Break softly in upon my days And lightly come and go. A foot so brisk I said must bear

Those we have loved the dearest, The bravest and the best, Are summoned from the battle To their eternal rest; There they endure the silence,

A deep bell that links the downs To the drowsy air; Every loop of sound that swoons, Finds a circle fair, Whereon it doth rest and fade;

With a golden rolling sound Booming came a bell, From the aery in the tower Eagles fell; So with regal wings

The Earth moans in her sleep Like an old mother Whose sons have gone to the war, Who weeps silently in her heart Till dreams comfort her.

(Aetat Six) Now every night we light the grate And I sit up till _really_ late; My Father sits upon the right, My Mother on the left, and I