Author Notes
‘Riddles’ was the boyish nickname given to Lieutenant S.G. Ridley of the Royal Flying Corps, a lad of twenty, who was reported to have lost his life in the Egyptian Desert while trying to save the life of a comrade.
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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…
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…
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 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…
Barefoot we went by Millers Dale When meadowsweet was golden gloom And happy love was in the vale Singing upon the summer bloom Of gipsy crop and branches laid
“Hush!” was my whisper At the stair-top When the waggoners were down below Home from the barley-crop. Through the high window
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…
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…
At the top of the house the apples… And the skylight lets the moonligh… Apples are deep-sea apples of gree… A cloud on the moon in the autumn… A mouse in the wainscot scratches,…
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
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.
In the Wheatsheaf parlour I sat t… The story of Chippington street g… The squire, and dames of little de… And drovers with cattle and flocks… And these were all as my creatures…
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,
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
The bird in the corn Is a marvellous crow. He was laid and was born In the season of snow; And he chants his old catches