#English
I am so fair that wheresoe’er I w… Men yearn with strange desire to k… Stretch out their hands to touch m… And women follow me from place to… A poet writing honey of his dear
When the spring comes again, will… Three springs I watched and waite… And listened for your voice upon t… I sought for you in many a hidden… Saying, ‘She must be there.’
The human heart will never change, The human dream will still go on, The enchanted earth be ever strang… With moonlight and the morning sun… And still the seas shall shout for…
The sun is weary, for he ran So far and fast to-day; The birds are weary, for who sang So many songs as they? The bees and butterflies at last
The Cry of the Little Peoples we… The Czech and the Pole, and the… We ask but a little portion of the… Only to sow and sing and reap in t… We ask not coaling stations, nor p…
May is back, and You and I Are at the stream again— The leaves are out, And all about The building birds begin
(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,
Wild bird, I stole you from your… And cannot find your nest again; To hear you chirp a little while I wrung your mother’s heart with p… And here you sit and droop and die…
To James Ashcroft Noble, Poet and Critic, a small acknowle… unforgotten kindness Inscriptions Poet, a truce to your song!
‘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 Two Friends married in the N… (TO. MR. AND MRS. WELCH) Another year to its last day, Like a lost sovereign, runaway, Tips down the gloomy grid of time:
As in the woodland I walk, many a… How from the dross and the drift t… And the fires quenched in October… How foulness grows fair with the s… of sleets and snows,
Why did you go away without one wo… Wave of the hand, or token of good… Nor leave some message for me with… Some sign to find you by; Some stray of blossom on the winte…
How fast the year is going by! Love, it will be September soon; O let us make the best of June. Already, love, it is July; The rose and honeysuckle go,
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…