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SONGS--

Song for an Unwritten Play The Cup A Rhymeless Song Meadow and Orchard Who thinks that he possesses Love in the Open Air Fear in the Night An Old Song Love's Close The Weed Recollection The Holiday Walking at Night Half Hope A New Song about the Sea

THE WINTER SOLDIER--

The Winter Soldier, i.-ix. The Pool The Dead Poet

PASTORAL PIECES--

The Vision in the Wood The Idyll The Pursuit of Daphne

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS--

Ode on Beauty Song in Time of Waiting Sonnets on Separation, i.-vii. The Morning Sun Persuasion Apology The Golden Moment Bramber Now would I be Midwinter Madness At a Lecture

SONGS

The moon's a drowsy fool to-night, Wrapped in fleecy clouds and white; And all the while Endymion Sleeps on Latmos top alone.

Not a single star is seen: They are gathered round their queen, Keeping vigil by her bed, Patient and unweari?d.

Now the poet drops his pen And moves about like other men: Tom o' Bedlam now is still And sleeps beneath the hawthorn'd hill.

Only the Latmian shepherd deems Something missing from his dreams And tosses as he sleeps alone. Alas, alas, Endymion!

As a hot traveller Going through stones and sands, Who sees clear water stir Amid the weary lands, Takes in his hollowed hands The clean and lively water, That trickles down his throat Like laughter, like laughter,

So when you come to me Across these parch?d places And all the waste I see Flowered with your graces, I take between my hands Your face like a rare cup, Where kisses mix with laughter, And drink and drink them up Like water, like water.

Rhyme with its jingle still betrays The song that's meant for one alone. Dearest, I dedicate to you A little song without a rhyme.

The most unpractised schoolboy knows That quiet kisses are the sweetest. Safe locked within my arms you lie, Let not a single sound betray us.

My heart is like a meadow, Where clouds go over, Dappling the mingled grass and clover With mingled sun and shadow, With light that will not stay And shade that sails away.

Your heart is like an orchard, That has the sun for ever in its leaves, Where, on the grass beneath the trees, There falls the shadow of the fruit That ripen there for me.

Who thinks that he possesses His mistress with his kisses Knows neither love nor her. Nor beauty is not his Who seeks it in a kiss: If you would seek for this O seek it otherwhere!

Love is a flame, a spirit Beyond all earthly merit And all we dream of here; Strive as you may but still Love is intangible, No servant to your will But sovereign otherwhere.

I'll love you in the open air But stuffy rooms and blazing fires And mirrors with familiar stare Cloak and befoul my high desires.

The dearest day that I have known Was in the fields, when driving rain Was like a veil around us thrown, A grey close veil without a stain.

The young oak-tree was stripped and bare But naked twigs a shelter made, Where curious cows came round to stare And stood astonished and dismayed.

Let it be rain or summer sun, Smell of wet earth or scent of flowers, Love, once more give me, give me one Of these enchanted lover's hours.

I am afraid to-night, We are too glad, too gay, Our life too sweet, too bright To last another day.

What hap, what chance can fall, What sorrow come, what schism, What loss, what cataclysm To part us two at all?

The stars with ageless fire In skies serene the same Observe our young desire And watch our loves aflame.

A whisper soft, a sound Unfollowed, unattended, Shakes all the branches round: They sleep and it is ended.

You sleep and I alone Torment myself with fear For new joys coming near And gracious actions done.

I am afraid to-night, We are too glad, too gay, Our life too sweet, too bright To last another day.

The wild duck fly over From river to river And so the young lover Goes roving for ever.

They fly together, He walks alone: No maiden can tether Him with her moan.

At the bursting of blossom On her breast his head; He has left her bosom Ere the apples are red.

Across the valley, Singing he goes. In highway and alley He seeks a new rose.

Tell me, O maidens, You who all day In lyrical cadence Dance and play,

Why do you proffer Your sweets to one, Who takes all you offer And leaves you to moan?

Now spring comes round again With blossom on the tree, Dark blossom of the peach, Light blossom of the pear And amorous birds complain And nesting birds prepare And love's keen fingers reach After the heart of me.

But now the blackthorn blows About the dusty lane And new buds peep and peer, I have no joy at all, For love draws near its close And love's white blossoms fall And in the springing year Love's fingers bring me pain.

My mother told me this for true That there behind the mountains, That wear the mists about their feet And clouds about their summits, There grows the weed Forgetfulness, It grows there in the gullies.

If I but knew the way thereto, Three days long would I wander And pick a handful of the weed And drink it steeped in honey, That so I might forget your mouth A thousand times that kissed me.

Hawthorn above, as pale as frost, Against the paling sky is lost: On the pool's dark sheet below, The candid water-daisies glow.

As I came up and saw from far The water littered, star on star, I thought the may had left its hedge To float upon the pool's dark edge.

The world's great ways unclose Through little wooded hills: An air that stirs and stills, Dies sighing where it rose Or flies to sigh again In elms, whose stately rows Receive the summer rain, And clouds, clouds, clouds go by, A drifting cavalry, In squadrons that disperse And troops that reassemble And now they pass and now Their glittering wealth disburse On tufted grass a-tremble And lately leafing bough.

Thus through the shining day We'll love or pass away Light hours in golden sleep, With clos'd half-sentient eyes And lids the light comes through, As sheep and flowers do Who no new toils devise, While shining insects creep About us where we lie Beneath a pleasant sky, In fields no trouble fills, Whence, as the traveller goes, The world's great ways unclose Through little wooded hills.

The moon poured down on tree and field, The leaf was silvered on the hedge, The sleeping kine were half revealed, Half shadowed at the pasture's edge.

August is gone and now this is September, Softer the sun in a cloudier sky; Yellow the leaves grow and apples grow golden, Blackberries ripen and hedges undress. Watch and you'll see the departure of summer, Here is the end, this the last month of all: Pause and look back and remember its promise, All that looked open and easy in May.

Nothing will stay them, the seasons go onward, Lightly the bright months fly out of my hand, Softly the leading note calls a new octave; Autumn is coming and what have I done? Even as summer my young days go over, No day to pause on and nowhere to rest: Slowly they go but implacably onwards, Ah! and my dreams, alas, still they are dreams.

How shall I force all my flowers to fruition, Use up the season of ripening sun? Softly the years go but going have vanished, Soon I shall find myself empty and old. Yet I feel in myself bright buds and blossoms, Promise of mellowest bearing to be. Still I have time beside what I have wasted: Life shall be good to me, work shall be sweet.

From Amberley to Storrington, From Storrington to Amberley, From Amberley to Washington You cannot see or smell the sea. But why the devil should you wish To see the home of silly fish?

Since I prefer the earth and air, The fish may wallow in the sea And live the life that they prefer, If they will leave the land to me, So wish for each what he may wish, The earth for me, the sea for fish.

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