The Letters
Still on the tower stood the vane, A black yew gloomed the stagnant air, I peered athwart the chancel pane And saw the altar cold and bare. A clog of lead was round my
Audley Court
‘The Bull, the Fleece are cramm’d, and not a room For love or money. Let us picnic there At Audley Court.’ I spoke, while Audley feast Humm’d like a hive all round the narrow
The Brook
I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley. By thirty hills I hurry down, Or slip between the
In Memoriam A. H. H.: 2. Old Yew, which graspest at the sto
Old Yew, which graspest at the stones That name the under-lying dead, Thy fibres net the dreamless head, Thy roots are wrapt about the bones. The seasons bring the flower again, And bring the
Gareth And Lynette
The last tall son of Lot and Bellicent, And tallest, Gareth, in a showerful spring Stared at the spate. A slender-shafted Pine Lost footing, fell, and so was whirled away. ‘How he went down,’
In Memoriam A. H. H.: 6. One writes, that Other Friends Rem
One writes, that “Other friends remain,” That “Loss is common to the race” And common is the commonplace, And vacant chaff well meant for grain. That loss is common would not make My own
In Memoriam A. H. H.: 39. Old warder of these buried bones
Old warder of these buried bones, And answering now my random stroke With fruitful cloud and living smoke, Dark yew, that graspest at the stones And dippest toward the dreamless head, To thee too
In Memoriam A. H. H.: 15. To-night the winds begin to rise
To-night the winds begin to rise And roar from yonder dropping day: The last red leaf is whirl’d away, The rooks are blown about the skies; The forest crack’d, the waters curl’d, The cattle
Mariana
WITH BLACKEST moss the flower-plots Were thickly crusted, one and all: The rusted nails fell from the knots That held the pear to the gable-wall. The broken sheds look’d sad and strange: Unlifted was
To The Queen
O loyal to the royal in thyself, And loyal to thy land, as this to thee Bear witness, that rememberable day, When, pale as yet, and fever-worn, the Prince Who scarce had plucked his
Memoriam A. H. H.: 44. How fares it with the happy dead?
How fares it with the happy dead? For here the man is more and more; But he forgets the days before God shut the doorways of his head. The days have vanish’d, tone and
The Lord of Burleigh
IN her ear he whispers gaily, ‘If my heart by signs can tell, Maiden, I have watch’d thee daily, And I think thou lov’st me well.’ She replies, in accents fainter, ‘There is none
In Memoriam A. H. H.: The Prelude
Strong Son of God, immortal Love, Whom we, that have not seen thy face, By faith, and faith alone, embrace, Believing where we cannot prove; Thine are these orbs of light and shade; Thou
The Princess (part 6)
My dream had never died or lived again. As in some mystic middle state I lay; Seeing I saw not, hearing not I heard: Though, if I saw not, yet they told me all
The Princess (prologue)
Sir Walter Vivian all a summer’s day Gave his broad lawns until the set of sun Up to the people: thither flocked at noon His tenants, wife and child, and thither half The neighbouring