Fresh from his fastnesses Wholesome and spacious, The North Wind, the mad huntsman, Halloas on his white hounds Over the grey, roaring

In the year that’s come and gone,… Stooping slowly, gave us heart, an… In the year that’s coming on, thou… We at least will not forget aught… In the year that’s come and gone,…

Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pol… I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance

Between the dusk of a summer night And the dawn of a summer day, We caught at a mood as it passed i… And we bade it stoop and stay. And what with the dawn of night be…

It came with the threat of a wanin… And the wail of an ebbing tide, But many a woman has lived for les… And many a man has died; For life upon life took hold and p…

A desolate shore, The sinister seduction of the Moo… The menace of the irreclaimable S… Flaunting, tawdry and grim, From cloud to cloud along her beat…

When you are old, and I am passed… Passed, and your face, your golden… I think, whate’er the end, this dr… Comforting you, a friendly star wi… Down the dim slope where you still…

Where are the passions they essaye… And where the tears they made to f… Where the wild humours they portra… For laughing worlds to see and kno… Othello’s wrath and Juliet’s woe?

He’s called The General from the… And dash with which he sneaks a bi… And all its fares; challenged, or… Back-answers of the newest he’ll e… He reins his horses with an air; h…

There’s never a delicate nurseling… But our huge London hails it, and… To wear it on her breast or at her… Her days to colour and make sweet… Crocus and daffodil and violet,

Where forlorn sunsets flare and fa… On desolate sea and lonely sand, Out of the silence and the shade What is the voice of strange comma… Calling you still, as friend calls…

Fools may pine, and sots may swill… Cynics gibe, and prophets rail, Moralists may scourge and drill, Preachers prose, and fainthearts q… Let them whine, or threat, or wail…

Or ever the knightly years were go… With the old world to the grave, I was the King of Babylon And you were a Christian Slave. I saw, I took, I cast you by,

WHAT have I done for you, England, my England? What is there I would not do, England, my own? With your glorious eyes austere,

His beat lies knee—high through a… A dust of terror and torture, grie… Ghosts that are England’s wonder,… Throng where he walks, an antic of… A sense of long immedicable tears