Who shall succeed me in my rural field),
To this small spirit annual honours yield!
Bright be thy hearth, hale be thy babes, I crave
And this, in thy green farm, the only grave.
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AS when the hunt by holt and field
Hunger of hopeless things pursuesOur spirits throughout life.The sea’s roar fills us aching fullOf objectless desire –The sea’s roar, and the white moon-shine,And the reddening of the fire.Who talks to me of reason now?It would be more delightTo have died in Cleopatra’s armsThan be alive to-night.
LATE, O miller,
The darkness falls.In the house the lights are lighted.See, in the valley they twinkle,The lights of home.Late, O lovers,The night is at hand;Silence and darknessClothe the land.
When at home alone I sit
I have just to shut my eyesTo go sailing through the skies–To go sailing far awayTo the pleasant Land of Play;To the fairy land afarWhere the Little People are;Where the clover-tops are trees,And the rain-pools are the seas,And the leaves, like little ships,Sail about on tiny trips;And above the Daisy treeThrough the grasses,High o’erhead the…
ABOUT the sheltered garden ground
The vale ne’er seemed so deep before,Nor yet so high the hill.An awful sense of quietness,A fulness of repose,Breathes from the dewy garden-lawns,The silent garden rows.As the hoof-beats of a troop of horseHeard far across a plain,A nearer knowledge of great thoughtsThrills vaguely through my brain.I lean my head upon my arm,My heart’s too full…
FIXED is the doom; and to the last of years
Each walks, though near, yet separate; each beholdsHis dear ones shine beyond him like the stars.We also, love, forever dwell apart;With cries approach, with cries behold the gulph,The Unvaulted; as two great eagles that do wheel in airAbove a mountain, and with screams confer,Far heard athwart the cedars.Yet the yearsShall bring us ever nearer; day…
As from the house your mother sees
So you may see, if you will lookThrough the windows of this book,Another child, far, far away,And in another garden, play.But do not think you can at all,By knocking on the window, callThat child to hear you. He intentIs all on his play-business bent.He does not hear; he will not look,Nor yet be lured out…