#English
GOD with His million cares Went to the left or right, Leaving our world; and the day Grew night. Back from a sphere He came
O BROTHERS, who must ache and… O’er wordy tasks in London town, How scantly Laura trips for you— A poem in a gown! How rare if Grub-street grew a la…
O might I leave this grassy place For spreading foam about my feet! The splendid spray upon my face, The flying brine itself were sweet If I might hear on Cromer beach
When first sent to School (now th… I fancied my masters and took to t… I thought to myself—here ’tis plai… Revolving at last in an orbit of j… The Alphabet Grecian I quickly c…
NATURE and he went ever hand in… Across the hills and down the lone… They captured starry shells upon t… And lay enchanted by the musing ma… So She, who loved him for his lov…
THOUGH singing but the shy and… Untrod by multitudes of feet, Songs bounded by the brook and whe… I have not failed in this, The only lure my woodland note,
Bartholomew is very sweet, From sandy hair to rosy feet. Bartholomew is six months old, And dearer far than pearls or gold… Bartholomew has deep blue eyes,
You voluble, Velvety Vehement fellows That play on your Flying and
Have you seen the golfers airy Prancing forth to their vagary, Just as frisky in their gaiters As a flock of Grecian Satyrs, Looking everything heroic,
If you passed her in your city You would call her badly dressed, But the faded homespun covers Such a heart in such a breast! True, her rosy face is freckled
Tend me my birds, and bring again The brotherhood of woodland life, So shall I wear the seasons round A friend to need, a foe to strife; Keep me my heritage of lawn,
All work is over at the farm And men and maids are ripe for gle… Love slips among them sly and warm Or calls them to the chestnut-tree… As Colin looks askance at Jane
IT hardly seems that he is dead, So strange it is that we are here Beneath this great blue shell of s… With apple-bloom and pear: It scarce seems true that we can n…
WAIT but a little while— The bird will bring A heart in tune for melodies Unto the spring, Till he who ’s in the cedar there
Excuse me, Sweetheart, if I smear… With wisdom learnt from ancient te… Now winter time once more is here, This grease upon your lengthy feat… Behaving thus, your loyal friend