Pure fasted faces draw unto this f… God comes all sweetness to your L… You striped in secret with breath—… Those crooked rough—scored chequer… To crosses meant for Jesu’s; you…
My window shews the travelling clo… Leaves spent, new seasons, alter’d… The making and the melting crowds: The whole world passes; I stand b… They do not waste their meted hour…
‘The child is father to the man.’ How can he be? The words are wild… Suck any sense from that who can: ‘The child is father to the man. No; what the poet did write ran,
What shall I do for the land that… Her homes and fields that folded a… Be under her banner and live for h… Under her banner I’ll live for he… CHORUS. Under her banner live f…
Glory be to God for dappled thing… For skies of couple—colour as a br… For rose—moles all in stipple upon… Fresh—firecoal chestnut—falls; fin… Landscape plotted and pieced– fold…
Now Time’s Andromeda on this rock… With not her either beauty’s equal… Her injury’s, looks off by both ho… Her flower, her piece of being, do… Time past she has been attempted a…
On ear and ear two noises too old… Trench—right, the tide that ramps… With a flood or a fall, low lull—o… Frequenting there while moon shall… Left hand, off land, I hear the l…
The best ideal is the true And other truth is none. All glory be ascribèd to The holy Three in One.
The furl of fresh—leaved dogrose d… His cheeks the forth—and—flaunting… Had swarthed about with lion—brown Before the Spring was done. His locks like all a ravel—rope’s—…
Thou art indeed just, Lord, if I… With thee; but, sir, so what I pl… Why do sinners’ ways prosper? and… Disappointment all I endeavour en… Wert thou my enemy, O thou my fri…
Wild air, world—mothering air, Nestling me everywhere, That each eyelash or hair Girdles; goes home betwixt The fleeciest, frailest—flixed
THIS darksome burn, horseback br… His rollrock highroad roaring down… In coop and in comb the fleece of… Flutes and low to the lake falls h… A windpuff—bonnet of fáwn—fróth
Elected Silence, sing to me And beat upon my whorlèd ear, Pipe me to pastures still and be The music that I care to hear. Shape nothing, lips; be lovely—dum…
. . . . . . . . Hope holds to Christ the mind’s o… To take His lovely likeness more… It will not well, so she would bri… An ever brighter burnish than befo…
The sea took pity: it interposed w… ‘I have tall daughters dear that h… Let Winter wed one, sow them in h… And she shall child them on the N…