The darkness brings no quiet here, the light No waking: ever on my blinded brain The flare of lights, the rush, and cry, and strain, The engines' scream, the hiss and thunder smite:...
Fair little scout, that when the iron year Changes, and the first fleecy clouds deploy, Comest with such a sudden burst of joy, Lifting on winter's doomed and broken rear...
The earth is the cup of the sun, That he filleth at morning with wine, With the warm, strong wine of his might From the vintage of gold and of light, Fills it, and makes it divine. ...
It fell on a day I was happy, And the winds, the concave sky, The flowers and the beasts in the meadow Seemed happy even as I; And I stretched my hands to the meadow, To the bird, the beast, the tree:...
In days, when the fruit of men's labour was sparing, And hearts were weary and nigh to break, A sweet grave man with a beautiful bearing Came to us once in the fields and spake. ...
Friend, though thy soul should burn thee, yet be still. Thoughts were not meant for strife, nor tongues for swords. He that sees clear is gentlest of his words, And that's not truth that hath the heart to kill....
All day, all day, round the clacking net The weaver's fingers fly: Gray dreams like frozen mists are set In the hush of the weaver's eye; A voice from the dusk is calling yet,...
Far up in the wild and wintery hills in the heart of the cliff-broken woods, Where the mounded drifts lie soft and deep in the noiseless solitudes, The hut of the lonely woodcutter stands, a few rough beams that show...
What saw I yesterday walking apart In a leafy place where the cattle wait? Something to keep for a charm in my heart - A little sweet girl in a garden gate. Laughing she lay in the gold sun's might,...
O little one, daughter, my dearest, With your smiles and your beautiful curls, And your laughter, the brightest and clearest, O gravest and gayest of girls;
Mother, to whose valiant will, Battling long ago, What the heaping years fulfil, Light and song, I owe; Send my little book a-field, Fronting praise or blame With the shining flag and shield...
Didst thou not tease and fret me to and fro, Sweet spirit of this summer-circled field, With that quiet voice of thine that would not yield Its meaning, though I mused and sought it so?...
Not, not for thee, Beloved child, the burning grasp of life Shall bruise the tender soul. The noise, and strife, And clamour of midday thou shall not see; But wrapt for ever in thy quiet grave,...
The wind-swayed daisies, that on every side Throng the wide fields in whispering companies, Serene and gently smiling like the eyes Of tender children long beatified,...