Did any bird come flying After Adam and Eve, When the door was shut against the… And they sat down to grieve? I think not Eve’s peacock
Gone were but the Winter, Come were but the Spring, I would go to a covert Where the birds sing; Where in the whitethorn
Dead in the cold, a song—singing t… Dead at the foot of a snowberry bu… Weave him a coffin of rush, Dig him a grave where the soft mos… Raise him a tombstone of snow.
Stroke a flint, and there is nothi… Strike a flint, and forthwith flas…
All the bells were ringing And all the birds were singing, When Molly sat down crying For her broken doll: O you silly Moll!
I said: This is a beautiful fresh… I said: I will delight me with it… Will watch its lovely curve of lan… Will watch its leaves unclose, its… I said: Old earth has put away he…
In the bleak mid—winter Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
I took my heart in my hand (O my love, O my love), I said: Let me fall or stand, Let me live or die, But this once hear me speak—
Motherless baby and babyless mothe… Bring them together to love one an…
They made the chamber sweet with f… And the bed sweet with flowers on… While my soul, love—bound, loitere… I did not hear the birds about the… Nor hear the reapers talk among th…
As violets so be I recluse and sw… Cheerful as daisies unaccounted ra… Still sunward—gazing from a lowly… Still sweetening wintry air. While half—awakened Spring lags i…
Sonnets are full of love, and this… Has many sonnets: so here now shal… One sonnet more, a love sonnet, fr… To her whose heart is my heart’s q… To my first Love, my Mother, on w…
Sleep, little Baby, sleep, The holy Angels love thee, And guard thy bed, and keep A blessed watch above thee. No spirit can come near
‘I dreamt I caught a little owl And the bird was blue —’ ‘But you may hunt for ever And not find such a one.’ ‘I dreamt I set a sunflower,
I cannot tell you how it was, But this I know: it came to pass Upon a bright and sunny day When May was young; ah, pleasant… As yet the poppies were not born