Black in the summer night my Cotw… Aslant my window sleeps, beneath a… Deep as the bedded violets that fi… March woods with dusky passion. A… Abed between cool walls I watch t…

He was a boy of April beauty; one Who had not tried the world; who,… Flamed yet upon the eastern sky, w… Time would have brought him in her… So his young beauty spoke-to prosp…

Now June walks on the waters, And the cuckoo’s last enchantment Passes from Olton pools. Now dawn comes to my window Breathing midsummer roses,

Morning and night I bring Clear water from the spring. And through the lyric noon I hear the larks in tune, And when the shadows fall

His wage of rest at nightfall stil… He takes, who sixty years has know… Of ploughing over Cotsall hill And keeping trim the Cotsall ston… He meditates the dusk, and sees

When you deliberate the page Of Alexander’s pilgrimage, Or say —'It is three years, or te… Since Easter slew Connolly’s men,… Or prudently to judgment come

For peace, than knowledge more des… Into your Sussex quietness I came… When summer’s green and gold and a… Over the world in flame. And peace upon your pasture lands…

Shy in their herding dwell the fal… They are spirits of wild sense. N… Comes upon their pastures. There… Of sufficient beauty, phantom, fug… Treading as in jungles free leopar…

Merely the moonlight Piercing the boughs of my may-tree… Falling upon my ferns; Only the night Touching my ferns with silver bloo…

I At any moment love unheralded Comes, and is king. Then as, with… Of frost, the buds upon the hawtho… Are withered in untimely burial, So love, occasion gone, his crown…

The barriers of sleep are crossed And I alone am yet awake, Keeping another Pentecost For that new visitation’s sake Of life descending on the hills

Sometimes youth comes to age and a… Or counsel, or a tale of old estat… Yet youth will still be curiously… The old man’s thought when death i… For all their courteous words they…

We are talkative proud, and assure… sufficient, The quick of the earth this day; This inn is ours, and its courtyar… history,

Sometimes the ghosts forgotten go Along the hill-top way, And with long scythes of silver mo… Meadows of moonlit hay, Until the cocks of Cotswold crow

Beyond my window in the night Is but a drab inglorious street, Yet there the frost and clean star… As over Warwick woods are sweet. Under the grey drift of the town