On its late (in 1871) Inundation… Well done, old Flood, that, hidin… Beneath thy yellow veil, dost wend… Those epic hills and dales of seve… To keep watch on the stone eternit…

On a solemn day I clomb the shining bulwark of the… Not by the beaten way, But climbing by a prayer, That like a golden thread hung by…

I have heard a friar say That the Olive learned to pray In Gethsemane,- A holy man was he, Jacopo by name,-

Oh water, water-water deep and sti… In this hollow of the hill, Thou helenge well o’er which the l… Here a stream and there a stream, And thou so still, between,

Dear Friend, methinks when thus t… Speaks from yon pale default that… The hale and stalwart by thy couch… Such fond intoleration to be whole As he, who, where the storms of ba…

I’m leaning where you loved to lea… The sun has sunk an hour ago behin… In this old oriel that we loved ho… Gazing, gazing, up the vale of gre… The summer corn is in the ear, tho…

Last night beneath the foreign sta… And saw the thoughts of those at h… To the great grave upon the hill o… Upon the darkness they went visibl… Each in the vesture of its own dis…

If Time that feeds love dies to d… Immortal hours, dear friends, were… For Morn that on the hills oped e… And Eve that walked like Mary by… Where that old Dreamer, as he bui…

Turn, turn, for my cheeks they bur… Turn by the dale, my Harry! Fill pail, fill pail, He has turned by the dale, And there by the stile waits Harr…

I do not say the day is long and w… For while thou art content to be a… Living in thee, oh Love, I live t… And reck not if mine own be sad an… I do not count its sorrows or its…

Keeping his word, the promised Ro… Enough of worded breath to live ti… Our Regulus was free of plighted… Or tacit debt: skies fell, seas le… Death yawned: with a mere step he…

There came to me softly a small wi… And it lifted a curl as it passed… But I sang sorrow and ho the heav… And I sang heigho and well-away! Again there came softly a small wi…

Far in the cradling sky, Dawn opes his baby eye, Then I awake and cry, Woe is me! Morn, the young hunter gay,

(Of Something Made By The Giver… Child, your effectual hands create… The things they fashion having, th… The type of matter than the precio… Of you, how can I serve myself of…

SISTER Simplicitie, Sing, sing a song to me, Sing me to sleep. Some legend low and long, Slow as the summer song