Author Notes
‘Riddles’ was the boyish nickname given to Lieutenant S.G. Ridley of the Royal Flying Corps, a lad of twenty, who was reported to have lost his life in the Egyptian Desert while trying to save the life of a comrade.
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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…
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…
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
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…
“Hush!” was my whisper At the stair-top When the waggoners were down below Home from the barley-crop. Through the high window
At April’s end, when blossoms bre… To birth upon my apple-tree, I know the certain year will take Full harvest of this infancy. At April’s end, when comes the de…
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…
To-day I have talked with old Eur… Shakespeare this morning sang for… Of chimney-sweepers; through the… Comes beating still the nightingal… The Tabard ales to-day are freshl…
He was a man with wide and patient… Grey, like the drift of twitch-fir… That, without fearing, searched if… Might threaten from your heart. G… Under a brow was drawn because he…
I know the pools where the graylin… I know the trees where the filbert… I know the woods where the red fox… The twisted elms where the brown o… And I’ve seldom a shilling to cal…
The raining hour is done, And, threaded on the bough, The May-buds in the sun Are shining emeralds now. As transitory these
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…
The barriers of sleep are crossed And I alone am yet awake, Keeping another Pentecost For that new visitation’s sake Of life descending on the hills
Sometimes the ghosts forgotten go Along the hill-top way, And with long scythes of silver mo… Meadows of moonlit hay, Until the cocks of Cotswold crow