Why are ye silent, Birds? Where do ye fly? Winter's not violent, With such a Spring sky. The wheatlands are green, snow and frost are away, Birds, why are ye silent on such a sweet day? ...
What makes me love thee now, thou dreary scene, And see in each swell'd heap a peaceful bed? I well remember that the time has been, To walk a church-yard when I us'd to dread;...
O for that sweet, untroubled rest That poets oft have sung!-- The babe upon its mother's breast, The bird upon its young, The heart asleep without a pain-- When shall I know that sleep again? ...
How pleasing simplest recollections seem! Now summer comes, it warms me to look back On the sweet happiness of youth's wild track, Varied and fleeting as a summer dream:...
There was a time, when love's young flowers With many a joy my bosom prest: Sweet hours of bliss!--but short are hours, Those hours are fled--and I'm distrest. I would not wish, in reason's spite;...
The Autumn's come again, And the clouds descend in rain, And the leaves are fast falling in the wood; The Summer's voice is still, Save the clacking of the mill...
The Old Year's gone away To nothingness and night: We cannot find him all the day Nor hear him in the night: He left no footstep, mark or place In either shade or sun:...
When shall I see the white-thorn leaves agen, And yellowhammers gathering the dry bents By the dyke side, on stilly moor or fen, Feathered with love and nature's good intents?...
The cockchafer hums down the rut-rifted lane Where the wild roses hang and the woodbines entwine, And the shrill squeaking bat makes his circles again Round the side of the tavern close by the sign....
The spring is coming by a many signs; The trays are up, the hedges broken down, That fenced the haystack, and the remnant shines Like some old antique fragment weathered brown....