The Lantern Out Of Doors
Sometimes a lantern moves along the night, That interests our eyes. And who goes there? I think; where from and bound, I wonder, where, With, all down darkness wide, his wading light? Men go
Henry Purcell
The poet wishes well to the divine genius of Purcell and praises him that, whereas other musicians have given utterance to the moods of man’s mind, he has, beyond that, uttered in notes the
Heaven Haven: A Nun Takes The Veil
I have desired to go Where springs not fail, To fields where flies no sharp and sided hail And a few lilies blow. And I have asked to be Where no storms come, Where
The Candle Indoors
Some candle clear burns somewhere I come by. I muse at how its being puts blissful back With yellowy moisture mild night’s blear-all black, Or to-fro tender trambeams truckle at the eye. By that
Love Preparing to Fly
He play’d his wings as tho’ for flight; They webb’d the sky with glassy light. His body sway’d upon tiptoes, Like a wind-perplexed rose; In eddies of the wind he went At last up
Hope Holds to Christ
. . . . . . . . Hope holds to Christ the mind’s own mirror out To take His lovely likeness more and more. It will not well, so she would bring about
St. Winefred's Well
ACT I. SC. I Enter Teryth from riding, Winefred following. T. WHAT is it, Gwen, my girl? why do you hover and haunt me? W. You came by Caerwys, sir? T. I came by
The Child Is Father To The Man
‘The child is father to the man.’ How can he be? The words are wild. Suck any sense from that who can: ‘The child is father to the man.’ No; what the poet did
The Bugler's First Communion
A buglar boy from barrack (it is over the hill There)-boy bugler, born, he tells me, of Irish Mother to an English sire (he Shares their best gifts surely, fall how things will), This
Barnfloor and Winepress
And he said, If the Lord do not help thee, whence shall I help thee? out of the barnfloor, or out of the winepress? 2 Kings VI: 27 Thou that on sin’s wages starvest,
Felix Randal
Felix Randal the farrier, O he is dead then? my duty all ended, Who have watched his mould of man, big-boned and hardy-handsome Pining, pining, till time when reason rambled in it and some
The Shepherd's Brow, Fronting Forked Lightning, Owns
The shepherd’s brow, fronting forked lightning, owns The horror and the havoc and the glory Of it. Angels fall, they are towers, from heaven-a story Of just, majestical, and giant groans. But man-we, scaffold
Pied Beauty
Glory be to God for dappled things- For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow; For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim; Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings; Landscape plotted and pieced-fold, fallow, and
Carrion Comfort
Not, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee; Not untwist-slack they may be-these last strands of man In me уr, most weary, cry I can no more. I can; Can something, hope,
To Seem The Stranger Lies My Lot, My Life
To seem the stranger lies my lot, my life Among strangers. Father and mother dear, Brothers and sisters are in Christ not near And he my peace my parting, sword and strife. England, whose