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Across the gap made by our English hinds
Afar in the Desert I love to ride

A floating, a floating across the sleeping sea
A full tide rose with ground-swell
Against the dim hot summer blue
A good sword and a trusty hand!
A green and silent spot, amid the hills
Ah Ben! Say how, or when

Ah, did you once see Shelley plain
Ah, what is love? It is a pretty thing
A late lark twitters from the quiet skies
All night before the brink of death
Alone, across a foreign plain
Although Ulysses to undreamed-of seas
Amid the stress of high-embattled strife
A naked house, a naked moor

And did those feet in ancient time

An effigy of brass

A north country maid up to London had stray'd
Are you not weary in your distant places
Arise up, England, from the smoky cloud
As I lie at rest on a patch of clover
As some lone miser visiting his store
As the stars come out, and the night-wind

A still salt pool, lock'd in with bars of sand
As when, upon a tranced summer night -
At early dawn through London you must go
At Florence, in a listless street

At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears

At the grey dawn, amongst the falling leaves

A vote in the laws they make!

A wee bird cam' to our ha' door

Beautiful face of a child

Because of Death hold not thy life too cheap

Because you could not choose to cramp
Behold her, single in the field .

Bells upon the city are ringing in the night
Beneath an ancient bridge, the straitened flood

Between the salt sea-send before

Blow, blow, winds blow, braggart winds and merry
Bloweth like snow

Blows the wind to-day, and the sun and the rain are flying
Bonnie Charlie's noo awa'

Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!

Breathes there the man, with soul so dead

Bury the Great Duke

But who the melodies of morn can tell?

Buy my English posies!

Byron lay, lazily lay

Calm is the morn without a sound
Captain or Colonel, or Knight in arms
Christ and His Mother, heavenly Maid
Christmas knows a merry, merry place
Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud
Crows crowd croaking overhead

Dark, dark was the day when we looked on Culloden
Dead, with their eyes to the foe

Dire rebel though he was

Do you ask what the birds say? The sparrow, the dove
Drake he's in his hammock an' a thousand mile away

Fair Daffodils, we weep to see

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree

Farewell! all good wishes go with him to-day
Farewell, Manchester, noble town, farewell!
Far from the sun and summer gale -

First came the primrose

Fleet Street! Fleet Street! Fleet Street in the morning

Foam flies white over rocks of black

For England, when with favouring gale

From Death's dark portals

From England's gilded halls of State

and your springs

From the Cotswolds, from the Chilterns, from your fountains

-

Goe find some whispering shade neare Arne or Poe
Goethe in Weimar sleeps, and Greece

Go, for they call you, shepherd, from the hill
Good King Wenceslas look'd out

Go, pretty child, and bear this flower

Green fields of England! wheresoe'er
Green little vaulter in the sunny grass

He gave us all a good-bye cheerily -

He has outsoared the shadow of our night
He is gone. Heaven's will is best
He journeys o'er the ocean's foam

He left the upland lawns and serene air
Her captains for the Baltic bound

Here in the country's heart

Here, where your garden fenced about and still is -
Home no more home to me, whither must I wander?
How green the earth, how blue the sky
How happy is he born and taught -

How large that thrush looks on the bare thorn-tree!
How vainly men themselves amaze

I bear the banner of the sun at noon

I cannot tell what you say, green leaves-
I dreamed that, as I wandered by the way
I fear that Puck is dead-it is so long

(B 838)

27**