Out on the giant air; tell Summer No,
Bid joy back, have at the harvest, keep Hope pale.
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Nothing is so beautiful as spring —
Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens, and thrushThrough the echoing timber does so rinse and wringThe ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brushThe descending blue; that blue is all in a rushWith richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.What is all this juice and…
F{‘e}lix R{‘a}ndal the f{‘a}rrier, O is he d{‘e}ad then? my d{‘u}ty all
Who have watched his mould of man, bigboned and hardy-handsomePining, pining, till time when reason rambled in it, and someFatal four disorders, fleshed there, all contended?Sickness broke him. Impatient, he cursed at first, but mendedBeing anointed |&| all; tho’ a heavenlier heart began someM{‘o}nths {‘e}arlier, since {‘I} had our sw{‘e}et repr{‘i}eve |&|r{‘a}nsomT{‘e}ndered to him. {‘A}h…
May is Mary’s month, and I
Her feasts follow reason,Dated due to season—Candlemas, Lady Day;But the Lady Month, May,Why fasten that upon her,With a feasting in her honour?Is it only its being brighterThan the most are must delight her?Is it opportunestAnd flowers finds soonest?Ask of her, the mighty mother:Her reply puts this otherQuestion: What is Spring?—Growth in every thing—Flesh and fleece,…
My window shews the travelling clouds,
The making and the melting crowds:The whole world passes; I stand by.They do not waste their meted hours,But men and masters plan and build:I see the crowning of their towers,And happy promises fulfill’d.And I – perhaps if my intentCould count on prediluvian age,The labours I should then have spentMight so attain their heritage,But now before…
For the Visitors’ Book at the Inn
Away from counter, court, or schoolO where live well your lease of leisureBut here at, here at Penmaen Pool?You’ll dare the Alp? you’ll dart the skiff?—Each sport has here its tackle and tool:Come, plant the staff by Cadair cliff;Come, swing the sculls on Penmaen Pool.What’s yonder?—Grizzled Dyphwys dim:The triple-hummocked Giant’s stool,Hoar messmate, hobs and nobs…
What shall I do for the land that bred me,
Be under her banner and live for her honour:Under her banner I’ll live for her honour.CHORUS. Under her banner live for her honour.Not the pleasure, the pay, the plunder,But country and flag, the flag I am under—There is the shilling that finds me willingTo follow a banner and fight for honour.CH. We follow her banner,…