In The Valley Of The Elwy
I remember a house where all were good To me, God knows, deserving no such thing: Comforting smell breathed at very entering, Fetched fresh, as I suppose, off some sweet wood. That cordial air
No Worst, There Is None. Pitched Past Pitch Of Grief
No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief, More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring. Comforter, where, where is your comforting? Mary, mother of us, where is your relief? My cries
In Honour Of St. Alphonsus Rodriguez
Laybrother of the Society of Jesus Honour is flashed off exploit, so we say; And those strokes once that gashed flesh or galled shield Should tongue that time now, trumpet now that field, And,
The Half-way House
Love I was shewn upon the mountain-side And bid to catch Him ere the dropp of day. See, Love, I creep and Thou on wings dost ride: Love it is evening now and Thou
Moonless darkness stands between
Moonless darkness stands between. Past, the Past, no more be seen! But the Bethlehem-star may lead me To the sight of Him Who freed me From the self that I have been. Make me
As Kingfishers Catch Fire
As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame; As tumbled over rim in roundy wells Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell’s Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;
The Windhover: To Christ Our Lord
I caught this morning morning’s minion, king- dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding High there, how he rung upon the rein
Brothers
How lovely the elder brother’s Life all laced in the other’s, Lóve-laced!-what once I well Witnessed; so fortune fell. When Shrovetide, two years gone, Our boys’ plays brought on Part was picked for John,
My prayers must meet a brazen heaven
My prayers must meet a brazen heaven And fail and scatter all away. Unclean and seeming unforgiven My prayers I scarcely call to pray. I cannot buoy my heart above; Above I cannot entrance
The May Magnificat
May is Mary’s month, and I Muse at that and wonder why: Her feasts follow reason, Dated due to season- Candlemas, Lady Day; But the Lady Month, May, Why fasten that upon her, With
What Shall I Do For the Land that Bred Me
What shall I do for the land that bred me, Her homes and fields that folded and fed me?- Be under her banner and live for her honour: Under her banner I’ll live for
To R. B
The fine delight that fathers thought; the strong Spur, live and lancing like the blowpipe flame, Breathes once and, quenchèd faster than it came, Leaves yet the mind a mother of immortal song. Nine
Duns Scotus's Oxford
Towery city and branchy between towers; Cuckoo-echoing, bell-swarmèd, lark-charmèd, rook-racked, river-rounded; The dapple-eared lily below thee; that country and town did Once encounter in, here coped and poisèd powers; Thou hast a base and
To What Serves Mortal Beauty?
To what serves mortal beauty ‘-dangerous; does set danc- Ing blood-the O-seal-that-so ‘ feature, flung prouder form Than Purcell tune lets tread to? ‘ See: it does this: keeps warm Men’s wits to the
Repeat That, Repeat
Repeat that, repeat, Cuckoo, bird, and open ear wells, heart-springs, delightfully sweet, With a ballad, with a ballad, a rebound Off trundled timber and scoops of the hillside ground, hollow hollow hollow ground: The