The raining hour is done, And, threaded on the bough, The May-buds in the sun Are shining emeralds now. As transitory these

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;

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…

Ringed high with turf the arena li… The neighbouring world unseen, unh… Here are but unhorizoned skies, And on the skies a passing bird, The conies and a wandering sheep,

LORD, not for light in darkness… Not that the veil be lifted from o… Nor that the slow ascension of our… Be otherwise. Not for a clearer vision of the th…

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…

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…

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

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

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…

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,

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…

Sweet in the rushes The reed-singers make A music that hushes The life of the lake; The leaves are dumb,

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…

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