With love exceeding a simple love… That glide in grasses and rubble o… Or change their perch on a beat of… From branch to branch, only restfu… Or, bristled, curl at a touch thei…

The long cloud edged with streamin… Soars from the West; The red leaf mounts with it away, Showing the nest A blot among the branches bare:

Ladies who in chains of wedlock Chafe at an unequal yoke, Not to nightingales give hearing; Better this, the raven’s croak. Down the Prado strolled my seigne…

An inspiration caught from dubious… Filled him, and mystic wrynesses h… For they lead farther than the sin… Wave subtler promise when desire p… The moon of cloud discoloured was…

When Sir Gawain was led to his br… By Arthur’s knights in scorn God-… How think you he felt? O the bride within Was yellow and dry as a snake’s ol…

Ask, is Love divine, Voices all are, ay. Question for the sign, There’s a common sigh. Would we, through our years,

Out in the yellow meadows, where t… Hums by us with the honey of the… And showers of sweet notes from th… Are dropping like a noon-dew, wand… Or is it now? or was it then? for…

The sister Hours in circles linke… Daughters of men, of men the mates… Are gone on flow with the day that… With the night that spanned at gol… Mothers, they leave us, quickening…

The flower unfolds its dawning cup… And the young sun drinks the star-… At eve it droops with the bliss of… And dreams in the midnight far awa… So am I in thy sole, sweet glance

He found her by the ocean’s moanin… Nor any wicked change in her disce… And she believed his old love had… Which was her exultation, and her… She took his hand, and walked with…

By this he knew she wept with waki… That, at his hand’s light quiver b… The strange low sobs that shook th… Were called into her with a sharp… And strangled mute, like little ga…

Sword in length a reaping-hook ama… Harald sheared his field, blood up… ‘Mid the swathes of slain, First at moonrise drank. Thereof hunger, as for meats the k…

Now, this, to my notion, is pleasa… To lie all alone on a ragged heath… Where your nose isn’t sniffing for… But a peat-fire smells like a gard… The cottagers bustle about the doo…

’Tis Christmas weather, and a cou… Receives us: rooms are full: we ca… An attic-crib. Such lovers will n… At that, it is half-said. The gre… Knocks hard upon the midnight’s ho…

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…