IT is not Love, this beautiful un… This tremor of longing that invade… For Love is in his grave this man… He will not rise—I do not wish hi… It is not memory, for your face an…

WE loved, my love, and now it see… Our love has brought to birth Friendship, the fairest child of d… The rarest gift of earth. Soon die love’s roses fresh and fr…

COUNTRY ‘SWEET are the lanes and the hed… With tall field-sorrel, and daisie… Sweet is the way through the woods… Linger by stile or by bank where w…

HOW can I tell you how I love yo… There is no music now the world is… The songs have all been sung, the… Broken the vows are all this many… Had we but met when all the world…

‘It is the skylark come.’ For sha… Robert-a-Cockney is thy name: Robert-a-Field would surely know That skylarks, bless them, never g… * * *

SIR GEOFFREY met the white la… Upon his marriage morn, Her eyes were blue as cornflowers… Her hair was gold like corn. Sir Geoffrey gave the white lady

LET them sing of their primrose a… Their daffodil-gold-coloured hair, Their bluebells, blue eyes, and wh… All the pale dreamy things they fi… Give me stir of brown leaves in th…

IF one should wake one’s frozen f… In sunlight of her radiant eyes, Bid it forget its dream of death, In this new dream of Paradise, Bid it forget the long, slow pain,

NEVER a ring or a lock of hair Or a letter stained with tears, No crown for the princely hour to… To be mocked of the rebel years. Not a spoken vow, not a written pa…

This was my little son Who leapt and laughed on my knee: Body we made with love, Soul made with love by Thee. This was the mystery

ALL the flight of thoughts here,… Fluttering in the sun, between the… Wheeling, whirling, poising, lovel… How to cage the flying thoughts, m… Set a springe of rhyme, and hope t…

WHEN my good-nights and prayers… And I am safe tucked up in bed, I know my guardian angel stands And holds my soul between his hand… I cannot see his wings of light

EVOLVING, changing, onwards st… We must advance, invent, construct… No matter what a price we have to… We must obtain perfection, and no… Perfection in our luxuries, the ho…

THIS mystery of golden hair, Of eyes and lips and bosom fair, Is not—if one could really see— Mere flesh and blood, like you and… This is a sphinx whose still lips…

THE lilies in my garden grow, Wide meadows ring my garden round, In that green copse wild violets b… And pale, frail cuckoo flowers are… For all you see and all you hear,