The mighty poets from their flowin… Dispense like casual alms the care… Through throngs of men their lonel… Let fall their costly thoughts, no… Not mine the rich and showering ha…

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,

Clear as of old the great voice ri… While Sherwood’s oak-leaves twine… The voice of him the master and th… Of one whole age and legion of the… Who sang his morning-song when Co…

Had I the fabled herb That brought to life the dead, Whom would I dare disturb In his eternal bed? Great Grenville would I wake,

Drifting through vacant spaces vas… One overtook me like a flying star And whirled me onward in his glist… From shade to shade the wingèd ste… And clomb the midnight like a moun…

England my mother, Wardress of waters. Builder of peoples, Maker of men,- Hast thou yet leisure

And passing through the city he we… Into the fat fields lying thereabo… And lo the spirit of the emerald s… With secret influence to himself u… Guided the wandering of his errant…

’Tis human fortune’s happiest heig… A spirit melodious, lucid, poised,… Second in order of felicity I hold it, to have walk’d with suc… * * * * *

Nay, bid me not my cares to leave, Who cannot from their shadow flee. I do but win a short reprieve, ‘Scaping to pleasure and to thee. I may, at best, a moment’s grace,

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…

What profits it, O England, to pr… In camp and mart and council, and… With argosies thy oceans, and rene… With tribute levied on each golden… Thy treasuries, if thou canst hear…

When birds were songless on the bo… I heard thee sing. The world was full of winter, thou Wert full of spring. To-day the world’s heart feels ane…

So, into Cornwall you go down, And leave me loitering here in tow… For me, the ebb of London’s wave, Not ocean-thunder in Cornish cave… My friends (save only one or two)

Not here, O teeming City, was it… Thy lover, thy most faithful, shou… But where the multitudinous life-t… Whose ocean-murmur was to him more… Than melody of birds at morn, or b…

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,