MY little maiden two years old, j… To tower full half a head above th… With inquisition keen must needs e… Whatever in my dwelling hath a doo… Whatever is behind a curtain hid,

(12TH OCTOBER 1492) From his adventurous prime He dreamed the dream sublime: Over his wandering youth It hung, a beckoning star.

Ere vandal lords with lust of gold… Deface each hallowed hillside we r… Ere cities in their million-throat… Menace each sacred mere— Let us give thanks because one noo…

Come hither, who grow cloyed to su… With lyric draughts o’ersweet, fro… On Hybla not Parnassus mountain:… With beakers rinsed of the dulcifl… Hither, and see a magic miracle

Last night the seawind was to me A metaphor of liberty, And every wave along the beach A starlit music seemed to be. To-day the seawind is to me

Spouse whom my sword in the olden… Winning me hatred more sharp than… Mother of children who hiss at or… Curse or revile me, and hold me ab… Heiress of anger that nothing assu…

And these-are these indeed the end… This grinning skull, this heavy lo… Do all green ways whereby we wend Lead but to yon ignoble home? Ah well! Thine eyes invite to bli…

The old rude church, with bare, ba… Beneath its shadow high-born Roth… Rotha, remembering well who slumbe… And with cool murmur lulling his r… Rotha, remembering well who slumbe…

The men who man our batteries, The men who serve our guns, They need not honeyed flatteries, For they are Britain’s sons! They go, when Duty speeds them,

So without rest or tarriance all t… Until the world was blear with com… Forth fared the princely fugitive,… His wearied feet till morn returni… Some village all a-hum with wakefu…

’Twas at this season, year by year… The singer who lies songless here Was wont to woo a less austere, Less deep repose, Where Rotha to Winandermere

O King of kings, that watching fr… Sufferest the monster of Ust-Kara… With bosom than Siberia’s wastes… And hear’st the wail of captives c… And sett’st no sign in heaven! Sh…

A beckoning spirit of gladness see… That lightly danced in laughing ai… The earth was all in tune, and you… Of Nature’s happy chorus. ’Twas like a vernal morn, yet over…

It was a skipper of Lowestoft That trawled the northern sea, In a smack of thrice ten tons and… And the Britain’s Pride

In the night, in the night, When thou liest alone, Ah, the sounds that are blown In the freaks of the breeze, By the spirit that sends