The stars are spinning their threa… And the clouds are the dust that f… And the suns are weaving them up For the day when the sleepers aris… The ocean in music rolls,

Had I the grace to win the grace Of some old man in lore complete, My face would worship at his face, And I sit lowly at his feet. Had I the grace to win the grace

In the hot sun, for water cool She walked in listless mood: When back she ran, her pitcher ful… Forgot behind her stood. Like one who followed straying she…

A harebell hung her wilful head: ‘I am tired, so tired! I wish I w… She hung her head in the mossy del… ‘If all were over, then all were w… The Wind he heard, and was pitifu…

Lawrence, what though the world be… And twilight cool thy potent day i… The sun, beneath the round earth s… All the night through, sleepless a… Oh, be thy spirit faithful as the…

O Mother Earth, I have a fear Which I would tell to thee– Softly and gently in thine ear When the moon and we are three. Thy grass and flowers are beautifu…

When round the earth the Father’s… Have gently drawn the dark; Sent off the sun to fresher lands, And curtained in the lark; ’Tis sweet, all tired with glowing…

We bore him through the golden lan… One early harvest morn; The corn stood ripe on either hand… He knew all about the corn. How shall the harvest gathered be

Beautiful stories wed with lovely… Like words and music:-what shall b… Of love and nobleness that might a… To express in action what this swe… The sweetness of a day of airs and…

Where the bud has never blown Who for scent is debtor? Where the spirit rests unknown Fatal is the letter. In thee, Jesus, Godhead-stored,

An angel saw me sitting by a brook… Pleased with the silence, and the… Of wind and water which did fall a… He gently stirred his plumes and f… An outworn doubt, which fell on me…

Heaven and the sea attend the dyin… And in their sadness overflow and… Faint gold, and windy blue, and gr… Far out amid them my pale soul I… For, as they mingle, so mix life a…

Is there a secret Joy, that may n… For every flower that ends its lit… For every child that groweth up to… For every captive bird a cage doth… For every aching eye that went to…

To G.E.M. ’Tis a little room, my friend– Baby walks from end to end; All the things look sadly real This hot noontide unideal;

Here much and little shift and cha… With scale of need and time; There more and less have meanings… Which the world cannot rime. Sickness may be more hale than hea…