‘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,
Felix Randal the farrier, O is he… Who have watched his mould of man,… Pining, pining, till time when rea… Fatal four disorders, fleshed ther… Sickness broke him. Impatient, he…
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…
I awoke in the Midsummer not to c… The moon, dwindled and thinned to… Or paring of paradisaical fruit, l… Stepped from the stool, drew back… A cusp still clasped him, a fluke…
Tom—garlanded with squat and surly… Tom; then Tom’s fallowbootfellow… By him and rips out rockfire homef… Tom Heart—at—ease, Tom Navvy: he… Sure, ’s bed now. Low be it: lust…
God with honour hang your head, Groom, and grace you, bride, your… With lissome scions, sweet scions, Out of hallowed bodies bred. Each by other’s comfort kind:
Justus quidem tu es, Domine, si d… verumtamen justa loquar ad te: Quare via impiorum prosperatur? &c… Thou art indeed just, Lord, if I… With thee; but, sir, so what I pl…
Beyond Mágdalen and by the Bridge… In Summer, in a burst of summerti… Following falls and falls of rain, When the air was sweet—and—sour of… Those goldnails and their gaylinks…
Nothing is so beautiful as Spring… When weeds, in wheels, shoot long… Thrush’s eggs look little low heav… Through the echoing timber does so… The ear, it strikes like lightning…
The fine delight that fathers thou… Spur, live and lancing like the bl… Breathes once and, quenchèd faster… Leaves yet the mind a mother of im… Nine months she then, nay years, n…
Look at the stars! look, look up a… O look at all the fire—folk sittin… The bright boroughs, the circle—ci… Down in dim woods the diamond delv… The grey lawns cold where gold, wh…
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…
To seem the stranger lies my lot,… Among strangers. Father and mothe… Brothers and sisters are in Chris… And he my peace my parting, sword… England, whose honour O all my he…
No worst, there is none. Pitched… More pangs will, schooled at forep… Comforter, where, where is your co… Mary, mother of us, where is your… My cries heave, herds—long; huddle…
I bear a basket lined with grass; I am so light, I am so fair, That men must wonder as I pass And at the basket that I bear, Where in a newly—drawn green litte…
