A man and woman walking Up the rye hill Had no breath for talking. The evening was still; Only the wind in the rough grass

Outside your window, venerable with ligh… The transient dusk, whose tale is never… Paused in a foreigner pausing, used to n… Yet one lamp vicariously befriended. Learning as evening learns, the grave al…

This fields has buried men is browed With easy gold; day’s Midas touch Turns all to richness, only these were p… By poverty under, pave a roofless church… Kindle no saffron cloud.

Her darkness fell, before her day was do… But now, profounder light’s illiterate c… She needs no eyes, she learns to follow… The drifting see who random flower is de… A footsore wanderer wearing the first sn…

A thousand years the flesh of the wool g… Between my fingers, cast on or cast off by shifting needles, by the unfertile bo… The sturdily-flowing wool was, for a thousand years, the toug…

The greenness after sterile stone, Not one stone left upon another; The augury unforeseen of a listening Ap… Behind the boarded window, Socket of havoc yet fractional eye of ho…