I Am
I am: yet what I am none cares or knows My friends forsake me like a memory lost, I am the self-consumer of my woes- They rise and vanish in oblivious host, Like shadows
In Hilly-Wood
How sweet to be thus nestling deep in boughs, Upon an ashen stoven pillowing me; Faintly are heard the ploughmen at their ploughs, But not an eye can find its way to see. The
Farewell
Farewell to the bushy clump close to the river And the flags where the butter-bump hides in forever; Farewell to the weedy nook, hemmed in by waters; Farewell to the miller’s brook and his
Summer Evening
The frog half fearful jumps across the path, And little mouse that leaves its hole at eve Nimbles with timid dread beneath the swath; My rustling steps awhile their joys deceive, Till past, and
November
The landscape sleeps in mist from morn till noon; And, if the sun looks through, ’tis with a face Beamless and pale and round, as if the moon, When done the journey of her
Early Nightingale
When first we hear the shy-come nightingales, They seem to mutter o’er their songs in fear, And, climb we e’er so soft the spinney rails, All stops as if no bird was anywhere. The
Summer
Come we to the summer, to the summer we will come, For the woods are full of bluebells and the hedges full of bloom, And the crow is on the oak a-building of her
Badger
When midnight comes a host of dogs and men Go out and track the badger to his den, And put a sack within the hole, and lie Till the old grunting badger passes by.
Where She Told Her Love
I saw her crop a rose Right early in the day, And I went to kiss the place Where she broke the rose away And I saw the patten rings Where she o’er the
Autumn Birds
The wild duck startles like a sudden thought, And heron slow as if it might be caught. The flopping crows on weary wings go by And grey beard jackdaws noising as they fly. The
Christmass
Christmass is come and every hearth Makes room to give him welcome now Een want will dry its tears in mirth And crown him wi a holly bough Tho tramping neath a winters sky
To A Fallen Elm
Old Elm that murmured in our chimney top The sweetest anthem autumn ever made And into mellow whispering calms would drop When showers fell on thy many coloured shade And when dark tempests mimic
May
Come queen of months in company Wi all thy merry minstrelsy The restless cuckoo absent long And twittering swallows chimney song And hedge row crickets notes that run From every bank that fronts the
The Nightingale's Nest
Up this green woodland-ride let’s softly rove, And list the nightingale – she dwells just here. Hush! let the wood-gate softly clap, for fear The noise might drive her from her home of love
Evening Primrose
When once the sun sinks in the west, And dewdrops pearl the evening’s breast; Almost as pale as moonbeams are, Or its companionable star, The evening primrose opes anew Its delicate blossoms to the