Spring went about the woods to-day… The soft-foot winter-thief, And found where idle sorrow lay ’Twixt flower and faded leaf. She looked on him, and found him f…

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.

What part of the dread eternity Are those strange minutes that I… Mazed with the doubt of love and p… When I thy delicate face may see, A little while before farewell?

Draw not away thy hands, my love, With wind alone the branches move, And though the leaves be scant abo… The Autumn shall not shame us. Say; Let the world wax cold and d…

Ye who have come o’er the sea to behold this grey minster of lan… Whose floor is the tomb of time pa… and whose walls by the toil of dea… Show pictures amidst of the ruin

Pray but one prayer for me ‘twixt… Think but one thought of me up in… The summer night waneth, the morni… Faint and grey ’twixt the leaves o… That are patiently waiting there f…

LOVE is enough: though the World… And the woods have no voice but th…    Though the sky be too dark for… The gold-cups and daisies fair blo… Though the hills be held shadows,…

For many, many days together The wind blew steady from the Eas… For many days hot grew the weather… About the time of our Lady’s Feas… For many days we rode together,

Now sleeps the land of houses, and dead night holds the street, And there thou liest, my baby, and sleepest soft and sweet; My man is away for awhile,

’Twas in the water-dwindling tide When July days were done, Sir Rafe of Greenhowes, ’gan to r… In the earliest of the sun. He left the white-walled burg behi…

The Briarwood. The fateful slumber floats and flo… About the tangle of the rose; But lo! the fated hand and heart To rend the slumberous curse apart…

Love is enough: though the World… And the woods have no voice but th… Though the sky be too dark for dim… The gold-cups and daisies fair blo… Though the hills be held shadows,…

But, learning now that they would… She threw her wet hair backward fr… Her hand close to her mouth touchi… As though she had had there a sham… And feeling it shameful to feel ou…

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.