WHEN I look forth at dawning, po… Field, flock, and lonely tree, All seem to look at me Like chastened children sitting si… Their faces dulled, constrained, a…

Woman much missed, how you call to… Saying that now you are not as you… When you had changed from the one… But as at first, when our day was… Can it be you that I hear? Let me…

When wilt thou wake, O Mother, wa… As one who, held in trance, has la… By vacant rote and prepossession s… The coils that thou hast wrought u… Wherein have place, unrealized by…

Some say the spot is banned; that…    Attests to a deed of hell; But of else than of bale is the my…    That ancient Vale-folk tell. Ere Cernel’s Abbey ceased hereabo…

I sang that song on Sunday, To witch an idle while, I sang that song on Monday, As fittest to beguile; I sang it as the year outwore,

I LOOK into my glass, And view my wasting skin, And say, “Would God it came to pa… My heart had shrunk as thin!” For then, I, undistrest

They are not those who used to fee… When we were young—they cannot be… These shapes that now bereave and… They are not those who used to fee… For would they not fair terms conc…

Wintertime nighs; But my bereavement—pain It cannot bring again: Twice no one dies. Flower—petals flee;

In Memory of one of the Writer’s… with Napoleon In a ferny byway Near the great South-Wessex High… A homestead raised its breakfast-s…

The ten hours’ light is abating, And a late bird flies across, Where the pines, like waltzers wai… Give their black heads a toss. Beech leaves, that yellow the noon…

The chimes called midnight, just a… And the daytime talk on the Roman… Was checked by silence, save for t… The bubbling waters played near th… And a warm air came up from underg…

For F. E. H. I sometimes think as here I sit Of things I have done, Which seemed in doing not unfit To face the sun:

“There is not much that I can do, For I’ve no money that’s quite my… Spoke up the pitying child— A little boy with a violin At the station before the train ca…

"O Time, whence comes the Mother’…    As of one who all unwittingly h…    Why weaves she not her world-we… With nevermore this too remorseful…    As of angel fallen from grace?"