Across the room my silent love I… Where you sit sewing in bed by can… Your young stern profile and indus… Displayed against the blind in a s… To Dinda’s grave delight.
Louder than gulls the little child… Whom fathers haul into the jovial… But others fearlessly rush in, bre… Laughing the salty water from thei… Heroes of the nursery.
As Jane walked out below the hill… She saw an old man standing still, His eyes in tranced sorrow bound On the broad stretch of barren gro… His limbs were knarled like aged t…
he child alone a poet is: Spring and Fairyland are his. Truth and Reason show but dim, And all’s poetry with him. Rhyme and music flow in plenty
Penthesileia, dead of profuse wond… Was despoiled of her arms by Prin… Who, for love of that fierce white… Necrophily on her committed In the public view.
Walking through trees to cool my h… I know that David’s with me here… All that is simple, happy, strong,… Caressingly I stroke Rough bark of the friendly oak.
‘Make a song, father, a new little… All for Jenny and Nancy.’ Balow lalow or Hey derry down, Or else what might you fancy? Is there any song sweet enough
Father is quite the greatest poet That ever lived anywhere. You say you’re going to write grea… I chose that first: it’s unfair. Besides, now I can’t be the great…
Old Mr. Philosopher Comes for Ben and Claire, An ugly man, a tall man, With bright—red hair. The books that he’s written
(The first corpse I saw was on th… German wires, and couldn’t be buri… The whole field was so smelly; We smelt the poor dog first: His horrid swollen belly
Why do you break upon this old, co… This painted peace of ours, With harsh dress hissing like a fl… With garish flowers? Why do you churn smooth waters rou…
Here in turn succeed and rule Carter, smith, and village fool, Then again the place is known As tavern, shop, and Sunday—schoo… Now somehow it’s come to me
‘Gabble—gabble, . . . brethren, .… My window frames forest and heathe… I hardly hear the tuneful babble, Not knowing nor much caring whethe… The text is praise or exhortation,
Down in the mud I lay, Tired out by my long day Of five damned days and nights, Five sleepless days and nights,… Dream—snatched, and set me where
Why have such scores of lovely, gi… Married impossible men? Simple self—sacrifice may be ruled… And missionary endeavour, nine tim… Repeat “impossible men”: not merel…