Round apples, burning upon the app… As the evening flush withdraws, Perfect and satiate, earth’s compl… In a stillness nothing flaws, You burn in the branching golden g…

In the shadow of a broken house, Down a deserted street, Propt walls, cold hearths, and pha… And the silence of dead feet— Locked wildly in one another’s arm…

By white St. Martin’s, where the… And plashed unheard in the busy mo… March, with rippling shadow and su… Laughing riotous round the gusty s… From frail narcissus heaped in bas…

Who enters here, beneath this guar… Feels over him a tender sky of lea… Dearer than heaven: at once his ey… Strange quiet: fathomless as water… Above far—sunken ships, this lumin…

I have too happy been. Some sad Fate envies me. An arrow she, unseen, Has fitted to her bow, And smiling grim, I know,

I wandered between woods On a grassy down, when still Clouds hung after rain Over hollow and hill; The blossom—time was over,

When life begins anew, And Youth, from gathering flowers… From vague delights, rapt musings,… Turns restless, seeking some great… To sum his fostered dreams; when t…

The Genius of an hour that fading… Resigned to wide—haired Night’s i… Stole me apart, I knew not where… And from my sense ravished the wor… Rose in my view a visionary ground…

Beautifully dies the year. Silence sleeps upon the mere: Yellow leaves float on it, stilly As, in June, the opened lily. Brushing o’er the frosty grass

Vision of peace, Joy without stai… That on my vext heart sweetly shin… Hast thou, too, known the touch of… Cares and dark hours, when in vain For thy lost quiet thou repinest?

Fir, that on this moor austere, Without kin or neighbour near, Utterest now bleak winter’s moan As if its vext soul were thine own… Unbefriended, placed like thee,

No more of sorrow, the world’s old… Nor war of thronging spirits numbe… Immortal ardours in brief days con… No more the languid fever of manki… To—day I sing: ’tis no melodious…

Grief is like a child, Led with relentless hand By a strange nurse, whose face Seems never to have smiled, Whose onward gaze severe

Their hearts were burning in their… Too hot for curse or cries. They stared upon the towers that b… Before their smarting eyes. There where, since France began t…

Pale was the early day, Fog-white the winter air, When up a hill-side bare, Roughened with rimy grass, I took my thoughtless way.