HAVE you ever been down to my co… Where the trees are green and tall… The days are long and the heavens… But the people there are small. There is no work there; it is alwa…

The young girl stood beside me. I Saw not what her young eyes cou… —A light, she said, not of the sky Lives somewhere in the Orange Tre… —Is it, I said, of east or west?

In the dim counties we take the long calm Lilting no haziness, sequel or psalm. The little street wenches,

THE STARS are pale. Old is the Night, his case is gri… His strength doth fail. Through stilly hours The dews have draped with love’s o…

When he was old and thin And knew not night or day He would sit up to say Something of the fire within. How woefully his chin

YOU, AND YELLOW AIR by Jo… I dream of an old kissing-time And the flowered follies there; In the dim place of cherry-trees, Of you, and yellow air.

When you go underground with all y… Your kindly lies and your ridiculo… You shall not ever fear to face ag… The strong man’s rage, the woman w… Nor song nor sigh will beat upon y…

Shyly the silver-hatted mushrooms… Soft entrance through, And undelivered lovers, half awake… Hear noises in the dew Yellow in all the earth and in the…

He has the full moon on his breast… The moonbeams are about hs wing; He has the colours of a king. I see him floating unto rest When all eyes wearily go west,

Fear it has faded and the night: The bells all peal the hour of nin… The schoolgirls hastening through… Touch the unknowable Divine. What leavening in my heart would b…

ALL singers have shadows That follow like fears, But I know a singer Who never saw tears; A gay love—a green love—

Oh ’twas a poor country, in Autum… The only green was the cutting gra… Oh, the thin wheat and the brown o… But down in the poor country no pa… My wealth it was the glow that liv…

I would be dismal with all the fin… But I can talk plainly to you, yo… Here in the heart of September th… Of the hot happy sound of the shea… Soon would I tire of all riches o…

Ragged, unheeded, stooping, meanly… The poor pass to the pond: not far… The spires go up to God. Shyly they come from the unpainted… Coats have they made of old unhapp…