HERE where the bee slept and the… Her honeying pipes of pearl, her v… Only the swart leaves of the oak l… In sombre fellowship. Here where the flame-weed set the…

Sweet Jennifer came calling me Along the shining beach. “There’s green upon the hawthorn t… There’s bloom upon the peach. O, April’s found the upland larch…

I shall not go with pain Whether you hold me, whether you f… My little loss and my immortal gai… O flower unseen, O fountain seale… Give me one look, one look remembe…

When the first dark had fallen aro… And the leaves were weary of prais… In the clear silence Beauty found… And shewed them all her ways. In the high noon of the heavenly g…

PLEASANT the ways whereon our… Sweet the young hills, the valleys… But now the hours of dew and dream… Lord, we are spent. We did not heed Thy warning in th…

OVER the long salt ridges And the gold sea-poppies between, They builded them wild-briar hedge… A church and a cloistered green. And when they were done with their…

See, the grass is full of stars, Fallen in their brightness; Hearts they have of shining gold, Rays of shining whiteness. Buttercups have honeyed hearts,

UNDER the young moon’s slender s… With the wind’s cool lips on mine, I went home from the Rabitty Fiel… As the clocks were striking nine. The yews were dark in the level li…

WHEN I was a little lad With folly on my lips, Fain was I for journeying All the seas in ships. But now across the southern swell,

DESOLATE strange sleep and wil… Came on me while yet a child; I, before I tasted tears, Knew the grief of all the years. I, before I fronted pain,

WHO goes down through the slim gr… Soon, so soon? Dawn is hard on the heels of the m… But never a lily the day-star know… Is white, so white as the one who…

BE pitiful! Her lips have touched… Clear stream that sets the long gr… The very doves that dream beside t… Sang their soft notes to her. For her these doors that claim the…

I chose the place where I would r… When death should come to claim me… With the red-rose roots to wrap my… And a quiet stone to name me. But I am laid on a northern steep

My counterpane is soft as silk, My blankets white as creamy milk. The hay was soft to Him, I know, Our little Lord of long ago. Above the roof the pigeons fly