Rosy maiden Winifred, With a milkpail on her head, Tripping through the corn, While the dew lies on the wheat In the sunny morn.

I cannot tell you how it was, But this I know: it came to pass Upon a bright and sunny day When May was young; ah, pleasant… As yet the poppies were not born

I will tell you when they met: In the limpid days of Spring; Elder boughs were budding yet, Oaken boughs looked wintry still, But primrose and veined violet

Jesus, do I love Thee? Thou art far above me, Seated out of sight Hid in Heavenly Light Of most highest height.

Am I a stone and not a sheep That I can stand, O Christ, bene… To number drop by drop Thy Blood’… And yet not weep? Not so those women loved

I am a King, Or an Emperor rather, I wear crown—imperial And prince’s—feather; Golden—rod is the sceptre

Love, strong as Death, is dead. Come, let us make his bed Among the dying flowers: A green turf at his head; And a stone at his feet,

If the moon came from heaven, Talking all the way, What could she have to tell us, And what could she say? ‘I’ve seen a hundred pretty things…

Golden—winged, silver—winged, Winged with flashing flame, Such a flight of birds I saw, Birds without a name: Singing songs in their own tongue

‘There’s a footstep coming: look o… ‘The leaves are falling, the wind… No one cometh across the lea.’— ‘There’s a footstep coming: O sis… ‘The ripple flashes, the white foa…

The year stood at its equinox And bluff the North was blowing, A bleat of lambs came from the flo… Green hardy things were growing; I met a maid with shining locks

Bread and milk for breakfast, And woollen frocks to wear, And a crumb for robin redbreast On the cold days of the year.

Thou who didst hang upon a barren… My God, for me; Though I till now be barren, now… Lord, give me strength To bring forth fruit to Thee.