On ear and ear two noises too old… Trench—right, the tide that ramps… With a flood or a fall, low lull—o… Frequenting there while moon shall… Left hand, off land, I hear the l…
Elected Silence, sing to me And beat upon my whorlèd ear, Pipe me to pastures still and be The music that I care to hear. Shape nothing, lips; be lovely—dum…
Look at the stars! look, look up a… O look at all the fire—folk sittin… The bright boroughs, the circle—ci… Down in dim woods the diamond delv… The grey lawns cold where gold, wh…
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
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…
Márgarét, áre you gríeving Over Goldengrove unleaving? Leáves like the things of man, you With your fresh thoughts care for,… Ah! ás the heart grows older
Margaret, are you grieving Over Goldengrove unleaving? Leaves, like the things of man, yo… With your fresh thoughts care for,… Ah! as the heart grows older
The world is charged with the gran… It will flame out, like shining fr… It gathers to a greatness, like th… Crushed. Why do men then now not… Generations have trod, have trod,…
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…
Glory be to God for dappled thing… For skies of couple—colour as a br… For rose—moles all in stipple upon… Fresh—firecoal chestnut—falls; fin… Landscape plotted and pieced– fold…
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…
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…
Thou mastering me God! giver of breath and bread; World’s strand, sway of the sea; Lord of living and dead; Thou hast bound bones & veins in m…
The best ideal is the true And other truth is none. All glory be ascribèd to The holy Three in One.
May is Mary’s month, and I Muse at that and wonder why: Her feasts follow reason, Dated due to season— Candlemas, Lady Day;