Peace
When will you ever, Peace, wild wooddove, shy wings shut, Your round me roaming end, and under be my boughs? When, when, Peace, will you, Peace? I’ll not play hypocrite To own my heart:
God's Grandeur
The world is charged with the grandeur of God. It will flame out, like shining from shook foil; It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil Crushed. Why do men then now
The Alchemist in the City
My window shews the travelling clouds, Leaves spent, new seasons, alter’d sky, The making and the melting crowds: The whole world passes; I stand by. They do not waste their meted hours, But men
The Times Are Nightfall
The times are nightfall, look, their light grows less; The times are winter, watch, a world undone: They waste, they wither worse; they as they run Or bring more or more blazon man’s distress.
Thee, God, I Come from
Thee, God, I come from, to thee go, All day long I like fountain flow From thy hand out, swayed about Mote-like in thy mighty glow. What I know of thee I bless, As
The Loss Of The Eurydice
Foundered March 24. 1878 1 The Eurydice-it concerned thee, O Lord: Three hundred souls, O alas! on board, Some asleep unawakened, all un- Warned, eleven fathoms fallen 2 Where she foundered! One stroke Felled
Ribblesdale
Earth, sweet Earth, sweet landscape, with leavés throng And louchéd low grass, heaven that dost appeal To, with no tongue to plead, no heart to feel; That canst but only be, but dost that
Morning Midday And Evening Sacrifice
The dappled die-away Cheek and wimpled lip, The gold-wisp, the airy-grey Eye, all in fellowship- This, all this beauty blooming, This, all this freshness fuming, Give God while worth consuming. Both thought and thew
Spring
Nothing is so beautiful as spring- When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush; Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens, and thrush Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring The
The Sea And The Skylark
On ear and ear two noises too old to end Trench-right, the tide that ramps against the shore; With a flood or a fall, low lull-off or all roar, Frequenting there while moon shall
Cheery Beggar
Beyond Mбgdalen and by the Bridge, on a place called there the Plain, In Summer, in a burst of summertime Following falls and falls of rain, When the air was sweet-and-sour of the flown
The Habit Of Perfection
Elected Silence, sing to me And beat upon my whorlèd ear, Pipe me to pastures still and be The music that I care to hear. Shape nothing, lips; be lovely-dumb: It is the shut,
To Him Who Ever Thought with Love of Me
To him who ever thought with love of me Or ever did for my sake some good deed I will appear, looking such charity And kind compassion, at his life’s last need That he
I Wake And Feel The Fell Of Dark, Not Day
I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day. What hours, O what black hours we have spent This night! what sights you, heart, saw; ways you went! And more must, in yet
To a Young Child
Margaret, are you grieving Over Goldengrove unleaving? Leaves, like the things of man, you With your fresh thoughts care for, can you? Ah! as the heart grows older It will come to such sights