We are budding, master, budding, We of your favourite tree; March drought and April flooding Arouse us merrily. The stemlets brightly studding;

“A woman for whom great gods might… I said, and kissed her there: And then I thought of the other f… And of how charms outwear. I thought of the first with her ea…

THE sun had wheeled from Grey’s… And still I mused on that Thing i… At length I sought the High-stree… The level flare raked pane and ped… And my wrecked face, and shaped my…

In a solitude of the sea Deep from human vanity, And the Pride of Life that planne… Steel chambers, late the pyres Of her salamandrine fires,

We are getting to the end of visio… The impossible within this univers… Such as that better whiles may fol… And that our race may mend by reas… We know that even as larks in cage…

AS evening shaped I found me on a… Which sight could scarce sustain: The black lean land, of featureles… Was like a tract in pain. “This scene, like my own life,” I…

How do you know that the pilgrim t… Along the belting zodiac Swept by the sun in his seeming ro… Is traced by now to the Fishes’ b… And into the Ram, when weeks of c…

If seasons all were summers, And leaves would never fall, And hopping casement-comers Were foodless not at all, And fragile folk might be here

Only a man harrowing clods In a slow silent walk, With an old horse that stumbles an… Half asleep as they stalk. Only thin smoke without flame

I saw a slowly-stepping train— Lined on the brows, scoop-eyed and… Following in files across a twilit… A strange and mystic form the fore… II

Song of the Soldiers What of the faith and fire within… Men who march away Ere the barn-cocks say Night is growing gray,

Yes; your up—dated modern page— All flower—fresh, as it appears— Can claim a time-tried lineage, That reaches backward fifty years (Which, if but short for sleepy sq…

I towered far, and lo! I stood wi…    The presence of the Lord Most… Sent thither by the sons of earth,…    Some answer to their cry.    —"The Earth, say’st thou? The…

Last year I called this world of… The darkest thinkable, and questio… If my own land could heave its pul… So charged it seemed with circumst… The tragedy of things.