NOW the fire is lighted On the chimney stone, Day goes down the valley, I am left alone. Now the misty purple

IN the wondrous star-sown night, In the first sweet warmth of sprin… I lie awake and listen To hear the glad earth sing. I hear the brook in the wood

NOW the stars have faded In the purple chill, Lo, the sun is kindling On the eastern hill. Tree by tree the forest

NOW the lilac tree’s in bud, And the morning birds are loud. Now a stirring in the blood Moves the heart of every crowd. Word has gone abroad somewhere

First all the host of Raphael In liveries of gold, Lifted the chorus on whose rhythm The spinning spheres are rolled,– The Seraphs of the morning calm

Hack ad Hew were the sons of God In the earlier earth than now: One at his right hand, one at his… To obey as he taught them how. And Hack was blind, and Hew was d…

Not in the ancient abbey, Nor in the city ground, Not in the lonely mountains, Nor in the blue profound, Lay him to rest when his time is c…

ONCE more in misted April The world is growing green. Along the winding river The plumey willows lean. Beyond the sweeping meadows

When all the stars are sown Across the night-blue space, With the immense unknown, In silence face to face. We stand in speechless awe

WHEN you hear the white-throat p… From a tree-top far away, And the hills are touched with pur… At the borders of the day; When the redwing sounds his whistl…

THE tall carnations crown the gar… Bowed on their stalks. Said Jock-a-dreams to John-a-nods… ‘What are the odds That we shall wake up here within…

OVER the wintry threshold Who comes with joy to-day, So frail, yet so enduring, To triumph o’er dismay? Ah, quick her tears are springing,

ON the long slow heave of a lazy… To the flap of an idle sail, The Nancy’s Pride went out on the… And the skipper stood by the rail. All down, all down by the sleepy t…

HERE by the gray north sea, In the wintry heart of the wild, Comes the old dream of thee, Guendolen, mistress and child. The heart of the forest grieves

HERE in lovely New England When summer is come, a sea-turn Flutters a page of remembrance In the volume of long ago. Soft is the wind over Grand Pré