In a patch of baked earth At the crumbled cliff’s brink, Where the parching of August Has cracked a long chink, Against the blue void

How solitary gleams the lamplit st… Waiting the far—off morn! How softly from the unresting city… The murmur borne Down this deserted way!

I am here, and you; The sun blesses us through Leaves made of light. The air is in your hair; You hold a flower.

So sad and so lonely, Dear? What dream by the fire do you drea… So deep, that you could not hear My step as I entered? Dim Is the room and the ceiling above…

Often we talk of the house that we… For airier and less jostled days t… We chafe in, and send Fancy roami… Down western valleys with a choosi… To hover upon this nook or on that…

The mist has fallen over the isles… And Ruan turns his boat for home. The wind is down; with an oar he s… The narrow races, where at whiles To left or right through fog he he…

Through Ebblesborne and Broad—Ch… The narrow river runs, Dimples with dark November rains, Flashes in April suns. But give me days of rosy June

The sun goes down, on other lands… I long to keep him, but he will no… Only in fancy can I wing my way To overtake him, to recatch each r… Warmer and warmer, till at last is…

‘Zeus, and ye Gods, that rule in… Is there naught holy, or to your h… Have ye forgotten utterly to love, Or to be kind, in that untroubled… If aught ye cherish, still by that…

Man, simple and brave, easily conf… Giving his all, glad of the sun’s… Heeding little of pitiful incomple… Mending life with laughter and che… Where is he?—I see him not, but I…

‘Haste thee, Harold, haste thee N… Norway ships in Humber crowd. Tall Hardrada, Sigurd’ son, For thy ruin this hath done— England for his own hath vowed.

In drooping leaves of the plane Hangs blue the early heat; Stirless, a delicate shade Sleeps on the parching street. I wander this listless morning

The shrines of old are broken down… The faiths that knelt at them are… Nothing’s strange, and nought unkn… All’s been done and all been said. Tired of knowledge, now we sigh

What wouldst thou with me? By wha… My spirit allure, absorb, compel? The last long beam that thou didst… Is buried now on evening’s brink. The garden’s leafy alleys lone,

There came an evening when the sto… After long rain, miraculously clea… And lo, across the burning waters… Rose up that coast, to thee and me… I knew the very houses by the bay.