I’m homesick for my hills again - My hills again! To see above the Severn plain, Unscabbarded against the sky, The blue high blade of Cotswold l…

I CAN NOT give you happiness: For wishes long have ceased to bri… The Fortune which to page and kin… They brought in those good centuri… When with a quaint and starry wand

Moth-like at night you flit or fly To where the other patients lie ; I hear, as you brush by my door The flutter of your wings, no more… Shall I now call you in and see

God dreamed a man; Then, having firmly shut Life like a precious metal in his… Withdrew, His labour done. Thus d… Our various divinity and sin.

Comrades of risk and rigour long a… Who have done battle under honour’… Hoped (living or shot down) some m… And wooed bright Danger for a thr… Laugh, oh laugh well, that we have…

Once, I remember, when we were at… I had come into church, and waited… Ere lastly kneeling to communicate Alone: and thinking that you would… Then, with closed eyes (having rec…

A man there was, a gentle soul, Of mild enquiring mind, Who came into this neighbourhood Its wonders for to find [ … ] They told him who had put the lid

Walking round our cages like the l… Zoo, We think of things that we have do… we mean to do: Of girls we left behind us, of let…

On Where’s the use to write? What can I tell you, dear? Just that I want you so Who are not near. Just that I miss the lamp whose b…

Big glory mellowing on the mellowi… And in the Uttle valleys, thatch… Wrought by the manifold and vagran… Of sun and ripening rain and wind… My country, that great magic cup w…

Here where no tree changes, Here in a prison of pine, I think how Autumn ranges The country that is mine. There—rust upon the chill breeze–

(To E.M., Who drew them in Ho… From troubles of the world I turn… Beautiful comical things Sleeping or curled Their heads beneath white wings

Sometimes ’tis far off, and someti… Such drummerdery noises too they b… ’Tis odd '€” oh, I do hope I bain… Just as the summer months be comin… And buffly chicken out, and bumble…

How should I sing you? '€” you wh… Within the darkest chamber of my h… What picturesque and inward-turnin… Could shadow forth the image of my… Sweet, world aloof, ineffably sere…

Oh pleasant things there be Without this prison yard: Fields green, and many a tree With shadow on the sward, And drifting clouds that pass