I am weary of lying within the cha… When the knights are meeting in ma… Nay, go not thou to the red—roofed… Lest the hoofs of the war—horse tr… But I would not go where the Squi…

I stood by the unvintageable sea Till the wet waves drenched face a… The long red fires of the dying da… Burned in the west; the wind piped… And to the land the clamorous gull…

The sin was mine; I did not under… So now is music prisoned in her ca… Save where some ebbing desultory w… Frets with its restless whirls thi… And in the withered hollow of this…

The sea was sapphire coloured, and… Burned like a heated opal through… We hoisted sail; the wind was blow… For the blue lands that to the eas… From the steep prow I marked with…

In the glad springtime when leaves… O merrily the throstle sings! I sought, amid the tangled sheen, Love whom mine eyes had never seen… O the glad dove has golden wings!

Tread lightly, she is near Under the snow, Speak gently, she can hear The daisies grow. All her bright golden hair

This English Thames is holier far… Those harebells like a sudden flus… Breaking across the woodland, with… Of meadow—sweet and white anemone To fleck their blue waves,—God is…

The seasons send their ruin as the… For in the spring the narciss show… Nor withers till the rose has flam… And in the autumn purple violets b… And the slim crocus stirs the wint…

The Thames nocturne of blue and g… Changed to a Harmony in grey: A barge with ochre—coloured hay Dropt from the wharf: and chill an… The yellow fog came creeping down

Could we dig up this long—buried t… Were it worth the pleasure, We never could learn love’s song, We are parted too long. Could the passionate past that is…

Under the rose—tree’s dancing shad… There stands a little ivory girl, Pulling the leaves of pink and pea… With pale green nails of polished… The red leaves fall upon the mould…

Within this restless, hurried, mod… We took our hearts’ full pleasure—… And now the white sails of our shi… And spent the lading of our argosy… Wherefore my cheeks before their t…

O goat—foot God of Arcady! This modern world is grey and old, And what remains to us of thee? No more the shepherd lads in glee Throw apples at thy wattled fold,

Set in this stormy Northern sea, Queen of these restless fields of… England! what shall men say of the… Before whose feet the worlds divid… The earth, a brittle globe of glas…

Christ, dost thou live indeed? or… Still straightened in their rock—h… And was thy Rising only dreamed b… Whose love of thee for all her sin… For here the air is horrid with me…