Patience, hard thing! the hard thi… But bid for, Patience is! Patienc… Wants war, wants wounds; weary his… To do without, take tosses, and ob… Rare patience roots in these, and,…
Let me be to Thee as the circling… Or bat with tender and air—crispin… That shapes in half—light his depa… From both of whom a changeless not… I have found my music in a common…
The shepherd’s brow, fronting fork… The horror and the havoc and the g… Of it. Angels fall, they are towe… Of just, majestical, and giant gro… But man—we, scaffold of score brit…
Some candle clear burns somewhere… I muse at how its being puts bliss… With yellowy moisture mild night’s… Or to—fro tender trambeams truckle… By that window what task what fing…
HAVE, fair fallen, O fair, fair… To me, so arch—especial a spirit a… An age is now since passed, since… Of the outward sentence low lays h… Not mood in him nor meaning, proud…
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…
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…
Hark, hearer, hear what I do; len… We are leafwhelmed somewhere with… Of some branchy bunchy bushybowere… Southern dene or Lancashire cloug… That leans along the loins of hill…
THE LEADEN ECHO HOW to kéep—is there ány any, is… Back beauty, keep it, beauty, beau… Ó is there no frowning of these wr… Dówn? no waving off of these most…
To what serves mortal beauty ‘ —da… ing blood—the O—seal—that—so ’ fea… Than Purcell tune lets tread to?… Men’s wits to the things that are;… Master more may than gaze, ’ gaze…
Repeat that, repeat, Cuckoo, bird, and open ear wells,… With a ballad, with a ballad, a re… Off trundled timber and scoops of… The whole landscape flushes on a s…
I have desired to go Where springs not fail, To fields where flies no sharp and… And a few lilies blow. And I have asked to be
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…
As a dare—gale skylark scanted in… Man’s mounting spirit in his bone—… That bird beyond the remembering h… This in drudgery, day—labouring—ou… Though aloft on turf or perch or p…
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…