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,

I’m greedy by nature, and often in… Have lingered too long o’er the su… Accepting the jelly, ignoring the… Intent on receiving far more than… I worship the plover’s egg, tasty…

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…

You voluble, Velvety Vehement fellows That play on your Flying and

On Helen’€™s heart the day were n… But I may not adventure there: Here breast is guarded by a right, And she is true as fair. And though in happy days her 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,

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

The brook told the dove And the dove told me That Cicely’s bathing at the pool With other virgins three. The brook told the dove

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,

WAIT but a little while— The bird will bring A heart in tune for melodies Unto the spring, Till he who ’s in the cedar there

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

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

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…

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