It was the very heart of Peace th… In the deep minster—bell’s wide—th… When over old roofs evening seemed… Security this world has never foun… Your cloister looked from Caesar’…

Beautifully dies the year. Silence sleeps upon the mere: Yellow leaves float on it, stilly As, in June, the opened lily. Brushing o’er the frosty grass

Out of first sleep as they awoke The moon had stolen upon her face. It seemed that they had opened eye… New on another world and place. The eyes of each the other sought

Naked night; black elms, pallid an… Alone with the passion of the Win… In a hollow of stormy sound lost a… On beaten earth a lost, unmated mi… Marvelling at the stars, few, stra…

Many dreams I have dreamed That are all now gone. The world, mirrored in a dark pool… How unearthly it shone! But now I have comfort

Within the eyes of Dream—Come—Tr… Shine the old dreams of my youth. Ere they faded, ere they grew Distant, they were born anew In her truth.

Familiar, year by year, to the cre… Is the long road’s level ridge abo… To—day a battery comes with horses… On the straight road, that under t… At leisurely pace, the guns with m…

Destiny drives a crooked plough And sows a careless seed; Now through a heart she cuts, and… She helps a helpless need. To—night from London’s roaring se…

Gentle as fine rain falling from t… The first beams from the Indian m… Steal through the boughs, and brig… Glide like a breath, a fragrance v… Asoka round him sees

She is not fair, as some are fair, Cold as the snow, as sunshine gay: On her clear brow, come grief what… She suffers not too stern an air; But, grave in silence, sweet in sp…

Stars beyond number or imagination Silent in the sky; Shadowy valleys and dark woods ove… Still, without a sigh; A house, lost in vastness and in s…

The winds of all the world bring a… Day by day, hour by hour, into our… Not only desolation, blood, and te… But cloud on cloud of suffocating… The human strives with the inhuman…

Fir, that on this moor austere, Without kin or neighbour near, Utterest now bleak winter’s moan As if its vext soul were thine own… Unbefriended, placed like thee,

Pale are the words I build for my… To house in; pale as the chill mis… An ardent morn. My fire to others… But dimly burns through the frail… I cast but shadows from my inward…

I am weary of doing and dating The day with the thing to be done, This painful self translating To a language not my own. Give me to fashion a thing;