To westward, sea and sky alone,
And sunsets. Put a mossy stone,
With mortal name and date, a harp
And bunch of wild flowers, carven sharp;
Then leave it free to winds that blow,
And patient mosses creeping; slow,
And wandering wings, and footsteps rare
Of human creature pausing there.
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Adieu to Belashanny!
Go where I may, I’ll think of you,as sure as night and morn.The kindly spot, the friendly town,where every one is known,And not a face in all the placebut partly seems my own;There’s not a house or window,there’s not a field or hill,But, east or west, in foreign lands,I’ll recollect them still.I leave my warm…
A wild west Coast, a little Town,
Tides flow and winds blow:Night and Tempest and the Sea,Human Will and Human Fate:What is little, what is great?Howsoe’er the answer be,Let me sing of what I know.
Amy Margaret’s five years old,
Dearer twenty-thousand-foldThan gold, is Amy Margaret.‘Amy’ is friend, is ‘Margaret’The pearl for crown or carkanet?Or peeping daisy, summer’s pet?Which are you, Amy Margaret?A friend, a daisy, and a pearl,A kindly, simple, precious girl, —Such, howsoe’er the world may twirl,Be ever, — Amy Margaret!
Adieu to Belashanny! where I was bred and born;
The kindly spot, the friendly town, where every one is known,And not a face in all the place but partly seems my own;There’s not a house or window, there’s not a field or hill,But, east or west, in foreign lands, I recollect them still.I leave my warm heart with you, tho’ my back I’m forced…
See how a Seed, which Autumn flung down,
Uncoils two little green leaves and two brown,With tiny root taking hold on the clayAs, lifting and strengthening day by day,It pushes red branchless, sprouts new leaves,And cell after cell the Power in it weavesOut of the storehouse of soil and clime,To fashion a Tree in due course of time;Tree with rough bark and boughs’…
The Boy from his bedroom-window
And away to the bleak black uplandUnder a clouded moon.The moon came forth from her cavern,He saw the sudden gleamOf a tarn in the swarthy moorland;Or perhaps the whole was a dream.For I never could find that waterIn all my walks and rides:Far-off, in the Land of Memory,That midnight pool abides.Many fine things had I…