Denis
Denis, whose motionable, alert, most vaulting wit Caps occasion with an intellectual fit. Yet Arthur is a Bowman: his three-heeled timber ‘ll hit The bald and bуld blнnking gold when бll ‘s dуne Right
On the Portrait of Two Beautiful Young People
A Brother and Sister O I admire and sorrow! The heart’s eye grieves Discovering you, dark tramplers, tyrant years. A juice rides rich through bluebells, in vine leaves, And beauty’s dearest veriest vein is
For A Picture Of St. Dorothea
I bear a basket lined with grass; I am so light, I am so fair, That men must wonder as I pass And at the basket that I bear, Where in a newly-drawn green
Binsey Poplars
felled 1879 My aspens dear, whose airy cages quelled, Quelled or quenched in leaves the leaping sun, All felled, felled, are all felled; Of a fresh and following folded rank Not spared, not one
Let me be to Thee as the circling bird
Let me be to Thee as the circling bird, Or bat with tender and air-crisping wings That shapes in half-light his departing rings, From both of whom a changeless note is heard. I have
Andromeda
Now Time’s Andromeda on this rock rude, With not her either beauty’s equal or Her injury’s, looks off by both horns of shore, Her flower, her piece of being, doomed dragon’s food. Time past
The Furl of Fresh-Leaved Dogrose Down
The furl of fresh-leaved dogrose down His cheeks the forth-and-flaunting sun Had swarthed about with lion-brown Before the Spring was done. His locks like all a ravel-rope’s-end, With hempen strands in spray – Fallow,
Hurrahing In Harvest
Summer ends now; now, barbarous in beauty, the stooks arise Around; up above, what wind-walks! what lovely behaviour Of silk-sack clouds! has wilder, wilful-wavier Meal-drift moulded ever and melted across skies? I walk, I
That Nature Is A Heraclitean Fire And Of The Comfort Of The Resurrection
Cloud-puffball, torn tufts, tossed pillows ‘ flaunt forth, then chevy on an air- Built thoroughfare: heaven-roysterers, in gay-gangs ‘ they throng; they glitter in marches. Down roughcast, down dazzling whitewash, ‘ wherever an elm
Tom's Garland
upon the Unemployed Tom-garlanded with squat and surly steel Tom; then Tom’s fallowbootfellow piles pick By him and rips out rockfire homeforth-sturdy Dick; Tom Heart-at-ease, Tom Navvy: he is all for his meal Sure,
Strike, Churl
Strike, churl; hurl, cheerless wind, then; heltering hail May’s beauty massacre and wispиd wild clouds grow Out on the giant air; tell Summer No, Bid joy back, have at the harvest, keep Hope pale.
Harry Ploughman
Hard as hurdle arms, with a broth of goldish flue Breathed round; the rack of ribs; the scooped flank; lank Rope-over thigh; knee-nave; and barrelled shank- Head and foot, shoulder and shank- By a
Patience, Hard Thing! The Hard Thing But To Pray
Patience, hard thing! the hard thing but to pray, But bid for, Patience is! Patience who asks Wants war, wants wounds; weary his times, his tasks; To do without, take tosses, and obey. Rare
Spelt From Sibyl's Leaves
Earnest, earthless, equal, attuneable, ‘ vaulty, voluminous, … stupendous Evening strains to be tíme’s vást, ‘ womb-of-all, home-of-all, hearse-of-all night. Her fond yellow hornlight wound to the west, ‘ her wild hollow hoarlight hung
The Blessed Virgin Compared To The Air We Breathe
Wild air, world-mothering air, Nestling me everywhere, That each eyelash or hair Girdles; goes home betwixt The fleeciest, frailest-flixed Snowflake; that ‘s fairly mixed With, riddles, and is rife In every least thing’s life;