There is one sin: to call a green leaf grey, Whereat the sun in heaven shuddereth. There is one blasphemy: for death to pray, For God alone knoweth the praise of death. ...
I cannot count the pebbles in the brook. Well hath He spoken: 'Swear not by thy head, Thou knowest not the hairs,' though He, we read, Writes that wild number in his own strange book. ...
The earth is a place on which England is found, And you find it however you twirl the globe round; For the spots are all red and the rest is all grey,...
I remember my mother, the day that we met, A thing I shall never entirely forget; And I toy with the fancy that, young as I am, I should know her again if we met in a tram....
How slowly learns the child at school The names of all the nobs that rule From Ponsonby to Pennant; Ere his bewildered mind find rest, Knowing his host can be a Guest,...
Name not his deed: in shuddering and in haste We dragged him darkly o'er the windy fell: That night there was a gibbet in the waste, And a new sin in hell.
Though the whole heaven be one-eyed with the moon, Though the dead landscape seem a thing possessed, Yet I go singing through that land oppressed As one that singeth through the flowers of June. ...
Were I that wandering citizen whose city is the world, I would not weep for all that fell before the flags were furled; I would not let one murmur mar the trumpets volleying forth...
We watched you building, stone by stone, The well-washed cells and well-washed graves We shall inhabit but not own When Britons ever shall be slaves; The water's waiting in the trough,...