A FIELD of scented clover That honey-bees hang over, A hazel-wood in Spring, Where thrush and robin sing. A stream that seaward flows.

Oh! my valley of shade and dreams! Golden lights 'mid the distant blu… Sun that pauses to kiss the dew, Dew that trembles beneath its beam… Fain were I but a bird above,

To meet almost as strangers, who h… Such lovers in the past! no glad d… To thrill our senses, till the wro… For very joy—I wonder will your m… Be happy? it seems years since I…

Upon my life I bear one precious… Each night I kiss it, till anew i… And tell each drop of blood, as ha… Are told by those dear few who fai… To me it seems to beautify, not ma…

If you would hear the thrushes sin… Then go to Georgetown in the spri… And wander slowly at your ease Along the avenues of trees. The sunshine and the shadows meet

The thought of you has filled the… The dawn with praise, Till all my senses thrill, like ro… The morning’s rays. This love of ours has clad with ne…

Oh! that the night were passed, an… Made lovely by the joy of spring, Would flood these sombre clouds wi… Oh! that some hopeful bird would s… And in his tiny feathered throat

Lime-trees meeting overhead, Many lovers cold and dead. Kissed and loved, and kissed again… In the sunshine and the rain. Underneath your scented green.

Why kinder to the breeze than unto… For oft you let him play within yo… Blow its soft curls about, and fin… The while he whispers low and tend… Into your ear; and yet how cold is…

The day our dead are laid to rest We heap the earth upon their breas… Upon the earth we set a stone. And then we leave them all alone. Some folks they weep, and some the…

Sunlight and shade, Moorland and glade, Evening and day, Winter and May, Troubadour breeze,

The Malvern Hills be green some d… And some days purple-blue, There never was the like of them The whole of England through. From Hanley straight into the Wel…

Sweet are the silent places of the… Green heart of woods through which… Long sloping meadows sown with sil… Old gardens thick with scents of d… Pale dome of morning, ere the firs…

Oh! weary ghosts, be still! Sad spectres of long dead delights… Wan spirits of the days and nights Wherein of joy we drank our fill, Lie deep beneath the sod of years.

Without what desolation! mist and… And weeping trees, and roses that… While still in blossom, till the a… Lies low, and speechless, and benu… An early twilight hyies the gentle…