I remember a house where all were… To me, God knows, deserving no su… Comforting smell breathed at very… Fetched fresh, as I suppose, off… That cordial air made those kind p…
I awoke in the Midsummer not to c… The moon, dwindled and thinned to… Or paring of paradisaical fruit, l… Stepped from the stool, drew back… A cusp still clasped him, a fluke…
The times are nightfall, look, the… The times are winter, watch, a wor… They waste, they wither worse; the… Or bring more or more blazon man’s… And I not help. Nor word now of s…
Felix Randal the farrier, O is he… Who have watched his mould of man,… Pining, pining, till time when rea… Fatal four disorders, fleshed ther… Sickness broke him. Impatient, he…
Margaret, are you grieving Over Goldengrove unleaving? Leaves, like the things of man, yo… With your fresh thoughts care for,… Ah! as the heart grows older
Glory be to God for dappled thing… For skies of couple—colour as a br… For rose—moles all in stipple upon… Fresh—firecoal chestnut—falls; fin… Landscape plotted and pieced– fold…
What being in rank—old nature shou… That hére pérsonal tells off these… A bush—browed, beetle—brówed bíllo… With a soúth—wésterly wínd blúster… Of crumbling, fore—foundering, thu…
Strike, churl; hurl, cheerless win… May’s beauty massacre and wispèd w… Out on the giant air; tell Summer… Bid joy back, have at the harvest,…
May is Mary’s month, and I Muse at that and wonder why: Her feasts follow reason, Dated due to season— Candlemas, Lady Day;
The furl of fresh—leaved dogrose d… His cheeks the forth—and—flaunting… Had swarthed about with lion—brown Before the Spring was done. His locks like all a ravel—rope’s—…
Nothing is so beautiful as Spring… When weeds, in wheels, shoot long… Thrush’s eggs look little low heav… Through the echoing timber does so… The ear, it strikes like lightning…
Elected Silence, sing to me And beat upon my whorlèd ear, Pipe me to pastures still and be The music that I care to hear. Shape nothing, lips; be lovely—dum…
O I admire and sorrow! The heart’… Discovering you, dark tramplers, t… A juice rides rich through bluebel… And beauty’s dearest veriest vein… Happy the father, mother of these!…
ACT I. SC. I Enter Teryth from riding, Winefre… T. WHAT is it, Gwen, my girl? w… W. You came by Caerwys, sir? T. I came by Caerwys.
The best ideal is the true And other truth is none. All glory be ascribèd to The holy Three in One.