The difference between you and her (whom I to you did once prefer) Is clear enough to settle: She like a diamond shone, but you Shine like an early drop of dew
As Jane walked out below the hill… She saw an old man standing still, His eyes in tranced sorrow bound On the broad stretch of barren gro… His limbs were knarled like aged t…
Are you shaken, are you stirred By a whisper of love, Spellbound to a word Does Time cease to move, Till her calm grey eye
I’ve watched the Seasons passing… In the fields between La Bassée a… Primroses and the first warm day o… Red poppy floods of June, August, and yellowing Autumn, so
Not to sleep all the night long, f… Counting no sheep and careless of… Welcoming the dawn confabulation Of birch, her children, who discus… Fanciful details of the promised c…
Grey haunted eyes, absent-mindedly… From wide, uneven orbits; one brow… Somewhat over the eye Because of a missile fragment stil… Skin-deep, as a foolish record of…
Now I begin to know at last, These nights when I sit down to r… The form and measure of that vast God we call Poetry, he who stoops And leaps me through his paper hoo…
It is a poet’s privilege and fate To fall enamoured of the one Muse Who variously haunts this island e… She was your mother, Darien, And presaged by the darting halcyo…
I’ve whined of coming death, but n… It’s weak and most ungracious. Fo… Though still a boy if years are co… I’ve lived those years from roof t… And feel, like grey—beards touchin…
He had met hours of the clock he n… Dumb, dragging, mirthless hours co… Bone—chilling, hungry hours when t… Bequeathing earth and heaven to gh… And will not hear man groan chaine…
Though I am an old man With my bones very brittle, Though I am a poor old man Worth very little, Yet I suck at my long pipe
A purple whale Proudly sweeps his tail Towards Nineveh; Glassy green Surges between
Blacksmith Green had three strong… With bread and beef did fill 'em, Now John and Ned are perished and… But plenty remains of William. John Green was a whiskey drinker,
To the woods, to the woods is the… In his grotto the maiden sits alon… She gazes up with a weary smile At the rafter—hanging crocodile, The slowly swinging crocodile.
‘Gabble—gabble, . . . brethren, .… My window frames forest and heathe… I hardly hear the tuneful babble, Not knowing nor much caring whethe… The text is praise or exhortation,
