Cherries of the night are riper Than the cherries pluckt at noon Gather to your fairy piper When he pipes his magic tune: Merry, merry,
On the eighth day God died; his b… That had been shut so long flew op… So Adam’s too in a dismay like de… But the world still rolled on arou… Instinct with all those lesser pow…
A page, a huntsman and a priest of… Her lovers, met in jealous contrar… Equally claiming the sole parentho… Of him the perfect crown of their… Then, whom to admit, herself she c…
Sing baloo loo for Jenny And where is she gone? Away to spy her mother’s land, Riding all alone. To the rich towns of Scotland,
Yet once an earlier David took Smooth pebbles from the brook: Out between the lines he went To that one—sided tournament, A shepherd boy who stood out fine
Mother: What’s in that cupboard,… Mary: Which cupboard, mother dear… Mother: The cupboard of red mahog… With handles shining clear. Mary: That cupboard, dearest moth…
Are you shaken, are you stirred By a whisper of love, Spellbound to a word Does Time cease to move, Till her calm grey eye
May they stumble, stage by stage On an endless Pilgrimage Dawn and dusk, mile after mile At each and every step a stile At each and every step withal
‘Come, surly fellow, come! A song… What, madmen? Sing to you? Choose from the clouded tales of w… And terror I bring to you. Of a night so torn with cries,
Love, do not count your labour los… Though I turn sullen, grim, retir… Even at your side; my thought is c… With fancies by old longings fired… And when I answer you, some days
To you who’d read my songs of War And only hear of blood and fame, I’ll say (you’ve heard it said bef… “War’s Hell!” and if you doubt th… Today I found in Mametz Wood
Come close to me, dear Annie, whi… A tale of burning love between a k… The pot was stalwart iron and the… And though their sides were black… Forget that kettle, Jamie, and th…
To bring the dead to life Is no great magic. Few are wholly dead: Blow on a dead man’s embers And a live flame will start.
Near Martinpuich that night of he… Two men were struck by the same sh… Together tumbling in one heap Senseless and limp like slaughtere… One was a pale eighteen—year—old,
Nine of the clock, oh! Wake my lazy head! Your shoes of red morocco, Your silk bed—gown: Rouse, rouse, speck—eyed Mary
