Merely the moonlight Piercing the boughs of my may-tree… Falling upon my ferns; Only the night Touching my ferns with silver bloo…

LORD, not for light in darkness… Not that the veil be lifted from o… Nor that the slow ascension of our… Be otherwise. Not for a clearer vision of the th…

Though summer long delayeth Her blue and golden boon, Yet now at length she stayeth Her wings above the noon; She sets the waters dreaming

I Long ago some builder thrust Heavenward in Southampton town His spire and beamed his bells, Largely conceiving from the dust That pinnacle for ringing down

He was a boy of April beauty; one Who had not tried the world; who,… Flamed yet upon the eastern sky, w… Time would have brought him in her… So his young beauty spoke-to prosp…

He comes on chosen evenings, My blackbird bountiful, and sings Over the gardens of the town Just at the hour the sun goes down… His flight across the chimneys thi…

For peace, than knowledge more des… Into your Sussex quietness I came… When summer’s green and gold and a… Over the world in flame. And peace upon your pasture lands…

Shy in their herding dwell the fal… They are spirits of wild sense. N… Comes upon their pastures. There… Of sufficient beauty, phantom, fug… Treading as in jungles free leopar…

At the top of the house the apples… And the skylight lets the moonligh… Apples are deep-sea apples of gree… A cloud on the moon in the autumn… A mouse in the wainscot scratches,…

High up in the sky there, now, you… In this May twilight, our cottage… Tenantless, and no creature there… Near it but Mrs. Fry’s fat cows,… Dove-coloured, as is Cotswold. No…

Black in the summer night my Cotw… Aslant my window sleeps, beneath a… Deep as the bedded violets that fi… March woods with dusky passion. A… Abed between cool walls I watch t…

I never went to Mamble that lies above the Teme, so I wonder who’s in Mamble, and whether people seem who breed and brew along there

Barefoot we went by Millers Dale When meadowsweet was golden gloom And happy love was in the vale Singing upon the summer bloom Of gipsy crop and branches laid

Now Love, her mantle thrown, Goes naked by, Threading the woods alone, Her royal eye Happy because the primroses again