No worst, there is none. Pitched… More pangs will, schooled at forep… Comforter, where, where is your co… Mary, mother of us, where is your… My cries heave, herds—long; huddle…
Tom—garlanded with squat and surly… Tom; then Tom’s fallowbootfellow… By him and rips out rockfire homef… Tom Heart—at—ease, Tom Navvy: he… Sure, ’s bed now. Low be it: lust…
Not of all my eyes see, wandering… Is anything a milk to the mind so,… Poetry to it, as a tree whose boug… Say it is ashboughs: whether on a… Fast ór they in clammyish lashtend…
When will you ever, Peace, wild w… Your round me roaming end, and und… When, when, Peace, will you, Peac… To own my heart: I yield you do c… That piecemeal peace is poor peace…
My aspens dear, whose airy cages q… Quelled or quenched in leaves the… All felled, felled, are all felled… Of a fresh and following folded ra… Not spared, not one
Teevo cheevo cheevio chee: O where, what can tháat be? Weedio—weedio: there again! So tiny a trickle of sóng—strain; And all round not to be found
Sometimes a lantern moves along th… That interests our eyes. And who… I think; where from and bound, I… With, all down darkness wide, his… Men go by me whom either beauty br…
Mortal my mate, bearing my rock—a—… Warm beat with cold beat company,… Earlier or you fail at our force,… The ruins of, rifled, once a world… The telling time our task is; time…
Cloud—puffball, torn tufts, tossed… Built thoroughfare: heaven—royster… Down roughcast, down dazzling whit… Shivelights and shadowtackle ín lo… Delightfully the bright wind boist…
Love I was shewn upon the mountai… And bid to catch Him ere the drop… See, Love, I creep and Thou on w… Love it is evening now and Thou a… Love, it grows darker here and Th…
. . . . . . . . Hope holds to Christ the mind’s o… To take His lovely likeness more… It will not well, so she would bri… An ever brighter burnish than befo…
Let me be to Thee as the circling… Or bat with tender and air—crispin… That shapes in half—light his depa… From both of whom a changeless not… I have found my music in a common…
Honour is flashed off exploit, so… And those strokes once that gashed… Should tongue that time now, trump… And, on the fighter, forge his glo… On Christ they do and on the mart…
What being in rank—old nature shou… That hére pérsonal tells off these… A bush—browed, beetle—brówed bíllo… With a soúth—wésterly wínd blúster… Of crumbling, fore—foundering, thu…
May is Mary’s month, and I Muse at that and wonder why: Her feasts follow reason, Dated due to season— Candlemas, Lady Day;