There was never a sound beside the
And that was my long scythe whispe
What was it it whispered? I knew
Perhaps it was something about the
Something, perhaps, about the lack

Thus of old the Douglas did:
He left his land as he was bid
With the royal heart of Robert th
In a golden case with a golden lid
To carry the same to the Holy Lan

If heaven were to do again,
And on the pasture bars,
I leaned to line the figures in
Between the dotted stars,
I should be tempted to forget,

The play seems out for an almost i
Don’t mind a little thing like the
The only I worry about is the sun
We’ll be all right if nothing goes

Something inspires the only cow of
To make no more of a wall than an
And think no more of wall-builders
Her face is flecked with pomace an
A cider syrup. Having tasted frui

I left you in the morning,
And in the morning glow,
You walked a way beside me
To make me sad to go.
Do you know me in the gloaming,

One misty evening, one another’s g
We two were groping down a Malver
The last wet fields and dripping h
There came a moment of confusing l
Such as according to belief in Ro

It was long I lay
Awake that night
Wishing that night
Would name the hour
And tell me whether

Before man to blow to right
The wind once blew itself untaught
And did its loudest day and night
In any rough place where it caught
Man came to tell it what was wrong

The line-storm clouds fly tattered
The road is forlorn all day,
Where a myriad snowy quartz stones
And the hoof-prints vanish away.
The roadside flowers, too wet for