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…

I was in the woods to-day, And the leaves were spinning there… Rich apparelled in decay, — In decay more wholly fair Than in life they ever were.

To Mrs. Thomas Hardy I do not use to listen well At sermon time, I 'Id rather hear the plainest rh… Than tales the parsons tell;

High up in the sky there, now, you… In this May twilight, our cottage… Tenantless, and no creature there… Near it but Mrs. Fry’s fat cows,… Dove-coloured, as is Cotswold. No…

I never went to Mamble that lies above the Teme, so I wonder who’s in Mamble, and whether people seem who breed and brew along there

I went beneath the sunny sky– When all things bowed to June’s d… The pansy with its steadfast eye, The blue shells on the lupin spire… The swelling fruit along the bough…

These hills and waters fostered yo… Abiding in your argument Until all comely wisdom drew About you, and the years were spen… Now over hill and water stays

Now Love, her mantle thrown, Goes naked by, Threading the woods alone, Her royal eye Happy because the primroses again

Wind and the robin’s note to—day— Have heard of autumn and betray The green long reign of summer. The rust is falling in the leaves, September stands beside the sheave…

He comes on chosen evenings, My blackbird bountiful, and sings Over the gardens of the town Just at the hour the sun goes down… His flight across the chimneys thi…

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

Where wall and sill and broken win… Are bright with flowers unroofed a… skies, And nothing but the nesting jackda… Breaks the hushed even, once imper…

A shower of green gems on my apple… This first morning of May Has fallen out of the night, to be Herald of holiday — Bright gems of green that, fallen…

Come down at dawn from windless hi… Into the valley of the lake, Where yet a larger quiet fills The hour, and mist and water make With rocks and reeds and island bo…

Austere and clad in sombre robes o… With hands upfolded and with silen… In unimpassioned mystery the day Passes; a lonely thrush its requie… The dust of night is tangled in th…