If seasons all were summers, And leaves would never fall, And hopping casement-comers Were foodless not at all, And fragile folk might be here

“OLD Norbert with the flat blue… A German said to be— Why let your pipe die on your lap, Your eyes blink absently?”— —"Ah!... Well, I had thought till…

Only a man harrowing clods In a slow silent walk With an old horse that stumbles an… Half asleep as they stalk. II

I dream that the dearest I ever k… Has died and been entombed. I am sure it’s a dream that cannot… But I am so overgloomed By its persistence, that I would…

I heard a small sad sound, And stood awhile among the tombs a… “Wherefore, old friends,” said I,… Now, screened from life’s unrest?” II

I MARK the months in liveries da… The day-tides many-shaped and hued… I see the nightfall shades subtrud… And hear the monotonous hours clan… I view the evening bonfires of the…

Here is the ancient floor, Footworn and hollowed and thin, Here was the former door Where the dead feet walked in. She sat here in her chair,

Christmas Eve, and twelve of the… “Now they are all on their knees,” An elder said as we sat in a flock By the embers in hearthside ease. We pictured the meek mild creature…

They had long met o’ Zundays—her… And at junketings, maypoles, and f… But she bode wi’ a thirtover uncle… Swore by noon and by night that he… Naibor Sweatley—a gaffer oft weak…

She charged me with having said th… To another woman long years before… In the very parlour where we sat,… Sat on a night when the endless po… Of rain on the roof and the road b…

(an Incident of Froom Valley) “THY husband—poor, poor Heart!—i… Dead, out by Moreford Rise; A bull escaped the barton-shed, Gored him, and there he lies!”

He bends his travel-tarnished feet    To where she wastes in clay: From day-dawn until eve he fares    Along the wintry way; From day-dawn until eve repairs

There trudges one to a merry-makin… With sturdy swing, On whom the rain comes down. To fetch the saving medicament Is another bent,

When I set out for Lyonnesse, A hundred miles away, The rime was on the spray, And starlight lit my lonesomeness When I set out for Lyonnesse

WHEN you paced forth, to wait ma… A dream of other offspring held my… Compounded of us twain as Love de… Rare forms, that corporate now wil… Should I, too, wed as slave to Mo…