Through the water-eye of night, Midway between eve and dawn, See the chase, the rout, the fligh… In deep forest; oread, faun, Goat-foot, antlers laid on neck;

Open horizons round, O mounting mind, to scenes unsung, Wherein shall walk a lusty Time: Our Earth is young; Of measure without bound;

Hawk or shrike has done this deed Of downy feathers: rueful sight! Sweet sentimentalist, invite Your bosom’s Power to intercede. So hard it seems that one must ble…

‘Heigh, boys!’ cried Grandfather… He lifted the crumpled letter, and… Up jumped all the echoing young on… Said, 'Father, before we make noi… The old man glared at him harshly,…

We look for her that sunlike stood Upon the forehead of our day, An orb of nations, radiating food For body and for mind alway. Where is the Shape of glad array;

Demeter devastated our good land, In blackness for her daughter snat… Smoke-pillar or loose hillock was… Where soil had been to clasp warm… The wheat, vine, olive, ripe to S…

What say you, critic, now you have… An author and maternal?—in this tr… (To quote you) of poor hollow folk… On instruments as like as drum to… You snarled tut-tut for welcome to…

But where began the change; and wh… The wretch condemned, who has not… Chafes at his sentence. Shall I,… Drag on Love’s nerveless body thr… I must have slept, since now I wa…

The day that is the night of days, With cannon-fire for sun ablaze We spy from any billow’s lift; And England still this tidal drif… Would she to sainted forethought v…

There stands a singer in the stree… He has an audience motley and meet… Above him lowers the London night… And around the lamps are flaring b… His minstrelsy may be unchaste -

I see a fair young couple in a woo… And as they go, one bends to take… That so may be embalmed their happ… And in another day, a kindred mood… Haply together, or in solitude,

Her son, albeit the Muse’s livery And measured courtly paces rouse h… Naked and hairy in his savage haun… To Nature only will he bend the k… Spouting the founts of her distill…

I cannot lose thee for a day, But like a bird with restless wing My heart will find thee far away, And on thy bosom fall and sing, My nest is here, my rest is here;…

Prince of Bards was old Aneurin; He the grand Gododin sang; All his numbers threw such fire in… Struck his harp so wild a twang; - Still the wakeful Briton borrows