The flowers left thick at nightfal… This Eastertide call into mind th… Now far from home, who, with their… Have gathered them and will do nev…

The glory of the beauty of the mor… The cuckoo crying over the untouch… The blackbird that has found it, a… That tempts me on to something swe… White clouds ranged even and fair…

The rain of a night and a day and… Stops at the light Of this pale choked day. The peer… Sees what has been done. The road under the trees has a bor…

After you speak And what you meant Is plain, My eyes Meet yours that mean,

The two men in the road were taken… The lovers came out shading their… And never was white so white, or b… As her cheeks and hair. ‘There ar… A man might turn into a wood for,…

Dark is the forest and deep, and o… Hang stars like seeds of light In vain, though not since they wer… Anything more bright. And evermore mighty multitudes rid…

The sweetest thing, I thought At one time, between earth and hea… Was the first smile When mist has been forgiven And the sun has stolen out,

I have come to the borders of slee… The unfathomable deep Forest where all must lose Their way, however straight, Or winding, soon or late;

Often I had gone this way before But now it seemed I never could b… And never had been anywhere else; ’Twas home; one nationality We had, I and the birds that sang…

There they stand, on their ends, t… That once were underwood of hazel… In Jenny Pink’s copse. Now, by t… Close packed, they make a thicket… Can creep through with the mouse a…

‘He has robbed two clubs. The jud… Can’t give him more than he undoub… Deserves. The scoundrel! Look at… A lady-killer! Hanging’s too good… For such as he.' So said the stra…

TALL nettles cover up, as they h… These many springs, the rusty harr… Long worn out, and the roller made… Only the elm butt tops the nettles… This corner of the farmyard I lik…

The skylarks are far behind that s… I can hear no more those suburb ni… Thrushes and blackbirds sing in th… In vain: the noise of man, beast,… But the call of children in the un…

Mother, the root of this little ye… Among the stones has the taste of… Things are strange to-day on the c… And the grasshopper works at his s… So hard. Here’s one on my hand, m…

She is most fair, And when they see her pass The poets’ ladies Look no more in the glass But after her.