That which we dare invoke to bless… Our dearest faith; our ghastliest… He, They, One, All; within, with… The Power in darkness whom we gue… I found Him not in world or sun,

Is it, then, regret for buried tim… That keenlier in sweet April wake… And meets the year, and gives and… The colours of the crescent prime? Not all: the songs, the stirring a…

Pellam the King, who held and los… In that first war, and had his rea… But rendered tributary, failed of… To send his tribute; wherefore Ar… His treasurer, one of many years,…

I send you here a sort of allegory… (For you will understand it) of a… A sinful soul possess’d of many gi… A spacious garden full of flowerin… A glorious Devil, large in heart…

I sometimes hold it half a sin To put in words the grief I feel; For words, like Nature, half reve… And half conceal the Soul within. But, for the unquiet heart and bra…

You say, but with no touch of scor… Sweet—hearted, you, whose light—bl… Are tender over drowning flies, You tell me, doubt is Devil—born. I know not: one indeed I knew

You say, but with no touch of scor… Sweet-hearted, you, whose light-bl… Are tender over drowning flies, You tell me, doubt is Devil-born. I know not: one indeed I knew

Old Yew, which graspest at the st… That name the under-lying dead, Thy fibres net the dreamless head, Thy roots are wrapt about the bone… The seasons bring the flower again…