COUNTRY ‘SWEET are the lanes and the hed… With tall field-sorrel, and daisie… Sweet is the way through the woods… Linger by stile or by bank where w…

UNDER our lead we lie While the sun and the snow go by, And our shrouds lie close, lie clo… Like the leaves of a shut white ro… That knows not what summer knows

WE loved, my love, and now it see… Our love has brought to birth Friendship, the fairest child of d… The rarest gift of earth. Soon die love’s roses fresh and fr…

(IRIS.) DADDY dear, I’m only four And I’d rather not be more: Four’s the nicest age to be— Two and two, or one and three.

O THOU, who, high in heaven, To man hast given This clouded earthly life All storm and strife, Blasted with ice and fire,

The wind is crying in the night, Like a lost child; The waves break wonderful and whit… And wild. The drenched sea-poppies swoon alo…

LEAN down and see your little fa… Reflected in the forest pool, Tall foxgloves grow about the plac… Forget-me-nots grow green and cool… Look deep and see the naiad rise

SINCE Faith is a veil that has… And Hope wanders lost where no mo… Since Love is a mirror we break i… In snatching the image our soul ha… What is the use of the Summers an…

You see the fairies dancing in the… Laughing, leaping, sparkling with… You see the gnomes, at work beneat… Make gold and silver and diamonds… You see the angels, sliding down t…

NEVER again: No child shall stir the inmost hea… And teach her heaven by that first… No little lips shall lie against h… Save the cold lips that now lie th…

THERE is a grey-walled garden, f… From noise and smoke of cities, wh… Pass with soft wings among the hap… And lovely leisure blossoms every… There, tall and white, the sceptra…

AS a little child whom his mother… Wrecked in the dark in a storm of… Sleeps with his tear-stained eyes… And, with fists clenched, sobs sti… So in my breast sleeps Love, O wh…

If you and I Had wings to fly - Great wings like seagulls’ wings - How would we soar Above the roar

‘It is the skylark come.’ For sha… Robert-a-Cockney is thy name: Robert-a-Field would surely know That skylarks, bless them, never g… * * *

THIS mystery of golden hair, Of eyes and lips and bosom fair, Is not—if one could really see— Mere flesh and blood, like you and… This is a sphinx whose still lips…