Maryland, U.S.A. Over the hills to Tennaley Town, When the leaves are red, and the l… Under a limpid sky! Oh! it 's good to be young to-day,

Oh! golden is the gorse-bush. Beneath an April sky, The lark is full of singing, The clouds are white and high ; But my love, my love is faithless.

The Moon looked in at the window, And smiled as I wrote to you, She lay like a frail white maiden, In shadowy folds of blue. Her bosom was bare and tender,

Our little love is newly born, And shall I say good-bye? For if I go, perchance ere dawn Our little love will die! I’d better stay and help it grow,

The road that leads to Ledbury Oh! it be such a pretty way. As far as Wales you’ll likely see… Suppose the month be May. The little birds they sing and sin…

Bredon is a lonesome hill, It hasn’t any brothers ; It stands within the Severn vale, Apart from all the others. The Cotswold Hills go hand in han…

What a lonely little corpse our lo… Very cold, and very still, and ver… Yet he throbbed with passion there… And we thought his every word divi… Have we both grown old, that neith…

Pale depth of sky, serene and wond… Within whose fold the lamps of ear… Shine far away and faintly luminou… Whose pensive tones merge from the… Into this colour indescribable ;

Malvern I rose, ere yet the eager light Had wrested from the grasp of nigh… The trembling spirit of the world. The dusk of dawn with wistful eyes

I often think that all those vast… For purer joys, that thrill the hu… Vague yearnings such as solitude i… That nameless something silence ca… Could after all be quenched by sim…

From Wind’s Point hill at eventid… I see the train go by ; The train that goes to Ledbury, Along the vale of Wye. It wanders through the clustered h…

A drop of dew that on a rose-bud c… A ray of sunshine in a world of S… A bird, who singing from some hidd… Is bathed in streams of endless me… An open flower you trod on as you…

I weave my verses of smiles and te… Gathered and shed for you, I bind them up in the hopes of yea… Dear, will you read them through? I write my ballads of joy and pain…

June 29th Beneath the lime trees in the gard… High above the town, The scent of whose suspended bloom Entranced the air with warm perfum…