A wild west Coast, a little Town, Where little Folk go up and down, Tides flow and winds blow: Night and Tempest and the Sea, Human Will and Human Fate: What is little, what is great
Howsoe'er the answer be, Let me sing of what I know
...
Through grass, through amber'd cornfields, our slow Stream— Fringed with its flags and reeds and rushes tall,
And Meadowsweet, the chosen of them all By wandering children, yellow as the cream Of those great cows—winds on as in a dream By mil...
Here the white-ray'd anemone is born,
Wood-sorrel, and the varnish'd buttercup;
And primrose in its purfled green swathed up,
Pallid and sweet round every budding thorn,
October - and the skies are cool and gray O'er stubbles emptied of their latest sheaf,
Bare meadow, and the slowly falling leaf
The dignity of woods in rich decay Accords full well with this majestic grief That clothes our solemn purple ...
I'm glad I am alive, to see and feel The full deliciousness of this bright day,
That's like a heart with nothing to conceal;
The young leaves scarcely trembling; the blue-grey Rimming the cloudless ether far away;
Brairds, hedges, s...
I thought it was the little bed I slept in long ago; A straight white curtain at the head, And two smooth knobs below
I thought I saw the nursery fire, And in a chair well-known My mother sat, and did not tire With reading all alone
If I...
Oh, lovely Mary Donnelly, my joy, my only best If fifty girls were round you,
I’d hardly see the rest;
Be what it may the time o’ day, the place be where it
Sweet looks o’ Mary Donnelly, they bloom before me still
Down on the shore, on the sunny shore
Where the salt smell cheers the land;
Where the tide moves bright under boundless light,
And the surge on the glittering strand;
O English mother, in the ruddy glow Hugging your baby closer when outside You see the silent, soft, and cruel snow Falling again, and think what ills betide Unshelter'd creatures,—your sad thoughts may go Where War and Winter now, two spectre-wolv...
Far from the churchyard dig his grave,
On some green mound beside the wave;
To westward, sea and sky alone,
And sunsets
Four ducks on a pond, A grass-bank beyond, A blue sky of spring, White clouds on the wing; What a little thing To remember for years— To remember with tears
Seek up and down, both fair and brown, We've purty lasses many,
O; But brown or fair, one girl most rare, The Flow'r o' Belashanny,
O
As straight is she as poplar-tree (Tho' not as aisy shaken,