‘Make a song, father, a new little… All for Jenny and Nancy.’ Balow lalow or Hey derry down, Or else what might you fancy? Is there any song sweet enough
White flabbiness goes brown and le… Dumpling arms are now brass bars, They’ve learnt to suffer and live… And to think below the stars. They’ve steeled a tender, girlish…
‘Gabble—gabble . . . brethren . .… My window glimpses larch and heath… I hardly hear the tuneful babble, Not knowing nor much caring whethe… The text is praise or exhortation,
This valley wood is pledged To the set shape of things, And reasonably hedged: Here are no harpies fledged, No rocs may clap their wings,
Call it a good marriage — For no one ever questioned Her warmth, his masculinity, Their interlocking views; Except one stray graphologist
Here down this very way, Here only yesterday King Faun went leaping. He sang, with careless shout Hurling his name about;
Love, do not count your labour los… Though I turn sullen, grim, retir… Even at your side; my thought is c… With fancies by old longings fired… And when I answer you, some days
Never be disenchanted of That place you sometimes dream you… Lying at large remove beyond all d… Or those you find there, though bu… In their company seated —
“Is that the Three—and—Twentieth,… Marching below, and we still gulpi… From the sad magic of his fragrant… The red—faced old centurion starte… Cursed, battered on the table. “N…
Walking through trees to cool my h… I know that David’s with me here… All that is simple, happy, strong,… Caressingly I stroke Rough bark of the friendly oak.
‘But that was nothing to what thin… From the sea—caves of Criccieth y… ‘What were they? Mermaids? Dragon… ‘Nothing at all of any things like… ‘What were they, then?’
On the eighth day God died; his b… That had been shut so long flew op… So Adam’s too in a dismay like de… But the world still rolled on arou… Instinct with all those lesser pow…
If strange things happen where she… So that men say that graves open And the dead walk, or that futurit… Becomes a womb and the unborn are… Such portents are not to be wonder…
Have you spent the money I gave y… Ay, father I have. A fourpence on cakes, two pennies… To a beggar I gave. The lake of yellow brimstone boil…
Owls —they whinny down the night; Bats go zigzag by. Ambushed in shadow beyond sight The outlaws lie. Old gods, tamed to silence, there
