It is the longest night in all the… Near on the day when the Lord Chr… Six hours ago I came and sat down… And ponder’d sadly, wearied and fo… The winter wind that pass’d the ch…

A ship with shields before the sun… Six maidens round the mast, A red-gold crown on every one, A green gown on the last. The fluttering green banners there

I KNOW a little garden-close Set thick with lily and red rose, Where I would wander if I might From dewy dawn to dewy night, And have one with me wandering.

SIR OZANA. All day long and every day, From Christmas-Eve to Whit-Sunda… Within that Chapel-aisle I lay, And no man came a-near.

I am Winter, that do keep Longing safe amidst of sleep: Who shall say if I were dead What should be remembered?

O treacherous scent, O thorny sig… O tangle of world’s wrong and righ… What art thou ’gainst my armour’s… But dusky cobwebs of a dream? Beat down, deep sunk from every gl…

There was a lord that hight Malte… Among great lords he was right gre… On poor folk trod he like the dirt… None but God might do him hurt. Deus est Deus pauperum.

Upon an eve I sat me down and wep… Because the world to me seemed now… Still autumn was it, & the mea… The misty hills dreamed, and the s… Seemed listening to the sorrow of…

TRANSLATED FROM THE I… Of silk my gear was shapen, Scarlet they did on me, Then to the sea-strand was I born… And laid in a bark of the sea.

Midst bitten mead and acre shorn, The world without is waste and wor… But here within our orchard-close, The guerdon of its labour shows. O valiant Earth, O happy year

Winter in the world it is, Round about the unhoped kiss Whose dream I long have sorrowed… Round about the longing sore, That the touch of thee shall turn

Silk Embroidery. Lo silken my garden, and silken my sky, And silken my apple-boughs hanging on high;

It was Goldilocks woke up in the… At the first of the shearing of th… There stood his mother on the hear… And of new-leased wheat was little… There stood his sisters by the que…

Thick rise the spear-shafts o’er t… That erst the harvest bore; The sword is heavy in the hand, And we return no more. The light wind waves the Ruddy Fo…

Laden Autumn here I stand Worn of heart, and weak of hand: Nought but rest seems good to me, Speak the word that sets me free.