Excuse me, Sweetheart, if I smear… With wisdom learnt from ancient te… Now winter time once more is here, This grease upon your lengthy feat… Behaving thus, your loyal friend

NATURE and he went ever hand in… Across the hills and down the lone… They captured starry shells upon t… And lay enchanted by the musing ma… So She, who loved him for his lov…

O might I leave this grassy place For spreading foam about my feet! The splendid spray upon my face, The flying brine itself were sweet If I might hear on Cromer beach

IT hardly seems that he is dead, So strange it is that we are here Beneath this great blue shell of s… With apple-bloom and pear: It scarce seems true that we can n…

THOUGH singing but the shy and… Untrod by multitudes of feet, Songs bounded by the brook and whe… I have not failed in this, The only lure my woodland note,

In summer, when the grass is thick… She shows me with her pencil how a… And often she is sweet enough to c… Where I cuddle up so closely when… In winter when the corn’s asleep,…

If you passed her in your city You would call her badly dressed, But the faded homespun covers Such a heart in such a breast! True, her rosy face is freckled

Tend me my birds, and bring again The brotherhood of woodland life, So shall I wear the seasons round A friend to need, a foe to strife; Keep me my heritage of lawn,

Beware of those who slyly pilch In many cunning ways; Beware of little lyres that filch From undisputed bays! Beware the tumbler’s beaded brim,

Adam and Eve together stood Amid the crop they both were tendi… While far away the feathery wood Of Eden in the wind was bending. And Adam, feeling in his veins

This peach is pink with such a pin… As suits the peach divinely; The cunning colour rarely spread Fades to the yellow finely; But where to spy the truest pink

Shy maids have haunts of still del… The lover glades he never tells; And one is mine where mass the bri… And odoured chimes of foxglove-bel… A dewy, covert, silent place

Have you seen the golfers airy Prancing forth to their vagary, Just as frisky in their gaiters As a flock of Grecian Satyrs, Looking everything heroic,

Bartholomew is very sweet, From sandy hair to rosy feet. Bartholomew is six months old, And dearer far than pearls or gold… Bartholomew has deep blue eyes,

If ever there was a Golden Game To brace the nerves, to cure repin… To put the Dumps to flight and sh… It’s Cricket when the sun is shin… Gentlemen, toss the foolscap by,