ACT I. SC. I Enter Teryth from riding, Winefre… T. WHAT is it, Gwen, my girl? w… W. You came by Caerwys, sir? T. I came by Caerwys.
Not, I’ll not, carrion comfort, D… Not untwist —slack they may be —th… In me ór, most weary, cry I can n… Can something, hope, wish day come… But ah, but O thou terrible, why…
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…
He play’d his wings as tho’ for fl… They webb’d the sky with glassy li… His body sway’d upon tiptoes, Like a wind—perplexed rose; In eddies of the wind he went
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
I caught this morning morning’s mi… dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple—… Of the rolling level underneath hi… High there, how he rung upon the r… In his ecstasy! then off, off fort…
May is Mary’s month, and I Muse at that and wonder why: Her feasts follow reason, Dated due to season— Candlemas, Lady Day;
Hark, hearer, hear what I do; len… We are leafwhelmed somewhere with… Of some branchy bunchy bushybowere… Southern dene or Lancashire cloug… That leans along the loins of hill…
Patience, hard thing! the hard thi… But bid for, Patience is! Patienc… Wants war, wants wounds; weary his… To do without, take tosses, and ob… Rare patience roots in these, and,…
Thou that on sin’s wages starvest, Behold we have the joy in harvest: For us was gather’d the first frui… For us was lifted from the roots, Sheaved in cruel bands, bruised so…
The Eurydice—it concerned thee, O… Three hundred souls, O alas! on b… Some asleep unawakened, all un— warned, eleven fathoms fallen Where she foundered! One stroke
‘The child is father to the man.’ How can he be? The words are wild… Suck any sense from that who can: ‘The child is father to the man. No; what the poet did write ran,
To seem the stranger lies my lot,… Among strangers. Father and mothe… Brothers and sisters are in Chris… And he my peace my parting, sword… England, whose honour O all my he…
To him who ever thought with love… Or ever did for my sake some good… I will appear, looking such charit… And kind compassion, at his life’s… That he will out of hand and heart…
THE LEADEN ECHO HOW to kéep—is there ány any, is… Back beauty, keep it, beauty, beau… Ó is there no frowning of these wr… Dówn? no waving off of these most…