‘This hot, hard flame with which o… Will make some meadow blaze with d… Ay! and those argent breasts of th… To water-lilies; the brown fields… Will be more fruitful for our love…

(To the Memory of Austin Dobson) Master of the lyric inn Where the rarer sort so long Drew the rein, to 'scape the din Of the cymbal and the gong,

Her eyes are bluebells now, her vo… And the long sighing grass her ele… She who a woman was is now a star In the high heaven shining down on…

Bees make their honey out of colou… Through the June day, with all it… Heather of breezy hills, and idle… Brushing soft doors of every bloss… Filling gold thighs in drowsy ravi…

I saw him in a picture, and I fel… He stood in line, The man ‘for mine,’ A tall silk-hatted 'guy’— Right on the call,

Beloved, I would tell a ghostly t… That hides beneath the simple name… Wild beyond hope the news—the dead… The shapes that slept, their breat… Ascend from out sarcophagus and ur…

(TO JOHN FRASER) There, in my mind’s-eye, pure it l… My lodger’s vote! ’Twas mine to-d… It seemed a sort of maidenhood, My little power for public good,—

Precious the box that Mary brake Of spikenard for her Master’s sak… But ah! it held nought half so dea… As the sweet dust that whitens her… The greater wonder who shall say:

Who dough shall knead as for God’… Shall fill it with celestial leave… And every loaf that she shall bake Be eaten of the Blest in heaven.

Lightnings may flicker round my he… And all the world seem doom, If you, like a wild rose, will wal… Strangely into the room. If only my sad heart may hear

After the war—I hear men ask—what… As tho this rock-ribbed world, scu… And bastioned deep in the ethereal… Can never be its morning self agai… Because of this brief madness, man…

An Elegy High on his Patmos of the Souther… Our northern dreamer sleeps, Strange stars above him, and above… Strange leaves and wings their tro…

Songs I sang of lordly matters, Life and death, and stars and sea; Nothing of them now remains But the song I sang for thee. Vain the learned elaborate metres,

I had no where to go, I had no money to spend: ‘O come with me,’ the Beaver said… ‘I live at the world’s end.’ ‘Does the world ever end!’

Through the dark wood There came to me a friend, Bringing in his cold hands Two words-'The End.’ His face was fair