Bears gash the forest trees To mark the bounds Of their own hunting grounds; They follow the wild bees Point by point home

And what of home—how goes it, boys… While we die here in stench and no… ‘The hill stands up and hedges win… Over the crest and drop behind; Here swallows dip and wild things…

‘Make a song, father, a new little… All for Jenny and Nancy.’ Balow lalow or Hey derry down, Or else what might you fancy? Is there any song sweet enough

May they stumble, stage by stage On an endless Pilgrimage Dawn and dusk, mile after mile At each and every step a stile At each and every step withal

Blacksmith Green had three strong… With bread and beef did fill 'em, Now John and Ned are perished and… But plenty remains of William. John Green was a whiskey drinker,

Pale at first and cold, Like wizard’s lily—bloom Conjured from the gloom, Like torch of glow—worm seen Through grasses shining green

When outside the icy rain Comes leaping helter—skelter, Shall I tie my restive brain Snugly under shelter? Shall I make a gentle song

‘Edward back from the Indian Sea, What have you brought for Nancy?’ ‘A rope of pearls and a gold earri… And a bird of the East that will… A carven tooth, a box with a key—’

Love, do not count your labour los… Though I turn sullen, grim, retir… Even at your side; my thought is c… With fancies by old longings fired… And when I answer you, some days

If strange things happen where she… So that men say that graves open And the dead walk, or that futurit… Becomes a womb and the unborn are… Such portents are not to be wonder…

Where is the landlord of old Hawk… And what of Master Straddler this… He’s along in the tap—room with br… And ten bold companions all drinki… Where is the daughter of old Hawk…

Are they blind, the lords of Gaza In their strong towers, Who declare Samson pillow—smother… And stripped of his powers? O stolid Philistines,

Four collier lads from Ebbw Vale Took shelter from a shower of hail… And there beneath a spreading tree Attuned their mouths to harmony. With smiling joy on every face

Now I begin to know at last, These nights when I sit down to r… The form and measure of that vast God we call Poetry, he who stoops And leaps me through his paper hoo…

Lovers in the act dispense With such meum-teum sense As might warningly reveal What they must not pick or steal, And their nostrum is to say: