Quiet, quiet dead, Have ye aught to say From your hidden bed In the earthy clay? Fathers, children, mothers,

Had I the grace to win the grace Of some old man in lore complete, My face would worship at his face, And I sit lowly at his feet. Had I the grace to win the grace

I stood in an ancient garden With high red walls around; Over them grey and green lichens In shadowy arabesque wound. The topmost climbing blossoms

Victorious through failure! faithf… Who for twelve angel legions would… From thine own country of eternal… To shield thee from the lanterned… Making thy one rash servant sheath…

When things are holding wonted pac… In wonted paths, without a trace Or hint of neighbouring wonder, Sometimes, from other realms, a to… A scent, a vision, swift, alone,

Where did you come from, baby dear… Out of the everywhere into here. Where did you get those eyes so bl… Out of the sky as I came through. What makes the light in them spark…

Filled with his words of truth and… Her heart will break or cry: A woman’s cry bursts forth in migh… Of loving agony. ‘Blessed the womb, thee, Lord, th…

Winter froze both brook and well; Fast and fast the snowflakes fell; Children gathered round the hearth Made a summer of their mirth; When a boy, so lately come

To give a thing and take again Is counted meanness among men; To take away what once is given Cannot then be the way of heaven! But human hearts are crumbly stuff…

A power is on me, and my soul must… To thee, thou grey, grey man, whom… With those white-headed children.… To commune with thy setting, and t… My doubts on thy grey hair; for I…

Sweet friends, receive my offering… Against each worded page a white p… This is the mirror of each friendl… Reflecting that. In this book we… Make it, dear hearts, of worth to…

Forth to his study the sculptor go… In a mood of lofty mirth: ‘Now shall the tongues of my carpi… Confess what my art is worth! In my brain last night the vision…

I love thy skies, thy sunny mists, Thy fields, thy mountains hoar, Thy wind that bloweth where it lis… Thy will, I love it more. I love thy hidden truth to seek

Enough he labours for his hire; Yea, nought can pay his pain; But powers that wear and waste and… Need help to toil again. They give him freely all they can,

I TO myself have neither power no… Patience nor love, nor anything ri… My soul is a poor land, plenteous… Here blades of grass, there a smal… A nothing that would be something…