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

Dear is the newly won, But O far dearer the for ever los… He that at utmost cost His utmost deed hath done The lost one to recover, and in va…

Just as I came Into the empty, westward—facing ro… A sudden gust blew wide The tall window; at once A shock of sudden light, vibrating…

I wandered between woods On a grassy down, when still Clouds hung after rain Over hollow and hill; The blossom—time was over,

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

In the middle of the night, waking… Of the Wind like one riding throu… Moodily riding, ever faster, he re… The windows rattled aloud: a door… And the ear in fear waited to feel…

There is a dimness fallen on old f… Our hearts are solemnized with dea… Than Time is bright with: we have… Or read of it in books; it is our… Eyes that have seen this wonder; l…

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…

There are five men in the moonligh… That by their shadows stand; Three hobble humped on crutches, And two lack each a hand. Frogs somewhere near the roadside

In the high woods that crest our h… Upon a steep, rough slope of fores… Where few flowers grow, sweet bloo… Of the Autumn Crocus, blowing pal… Dim falls the sunlight there;

We grudged not those that were dea… Lovers, brothers, sons. Our hearts were full, and out of a… We gave our belovèd ones. Because we loved, we gave. In the…

Tremulous out of that long darknes… Wast thou, O blossom, made Upon the wintry bough? What drew thee to appear, Like a thought in the mind,

Love, like cordial wine, Pouring his soul in mine, Bids me to sing; Youth’s bright glory snatch, And Time’s paces match

My spirit to—day that sprang To meet the laughing morn Is clouded and forlorn And chafes with hidden pang. For teasing care and fret

Peace is perfect over All the hills. Scarce wilt thou discover A breath, so still’s Every tree.