And kissing hands, in chorus sing:
Good-bye, good-bye, to everything!
To house and garden, field and lawn,
The meadow-gates we swang upon,
To pump and stable, tree and swing,
Good-bye, good-bye, to everything!
And fare you well for evermore,
O ladder at the hayloft door,
O hayloft where the cobwebs cling,
Good-bye, good-bye, to everything!
Crack goes the whip, and off we go;
The trees and houses smaller grow;
Last, round the woody turn we sing:
Good-bye, good-bye, to everything!
White sailsOn the blue bay:The far-farersDraw away.Light the firesAnd close the door.To the old homes,To the loved shore,The far-farersReturn no more.
From where the dogs of Scotland call the sheep around the fold,To where the flags are flying beside the Gates of Gold.Where all the deep-sea galleons ride that come to bring the corn,Where falls the fog at eventide and blows the breeze at morn;It’s there that I was sick and sad, alone and poor and…
Then like an answer dwindlesAnd glows the fire,And the chamber reddens and darkensIn time like taken breath.Near by the sounding chimneyThe youth apartHearkens with changing colourAnd leaping heart,And hears in the coil of the tempestThe voice of love and death.Love on high in the flute-likeAnd tender notesSounds as from April meadowsAnd hillside cotes;But the deep…
Man’s theatre they bear with ease,Unfrowning cariatides!I, for my wife, the sun uphold,Or, dozing, strike the seasons cold.She, on her side, in fairy-wiseDeals in diviner mysteries,By spells to make the fuel burnAnd keep the parlour warm, to turnWater to wine, and stones to bread,By her unconquered hero-head.A naked Adam, naked Eve,Alone the primal bower we…
The rounded days and the safe years he sees,Nor fears death’s water mounting round his knees.To him remembering not one day is sad,Not one but that its memory makes him glad.So good men lengthen life; and to recallThe past is to have twice enjoyed it all.
Cool pleasure fills my bosom throughAnd spreads each nerve along.My bosom eddies quietly,My heart is stirred and coolAs when a wind-moved briar sweepsA stone into a poolBut unto thee, when thee I meet,My pulses thicken fast,As when the maddened lake grows blackAnd ruffles in the blast.
