Poems

Not in this chamber only at my birth-- When the long hours of that mysterious night Were over, and the morning was in sight-- I cried, but in strange places, steppe and firth I...

Oh, grey hill, Where the grazing herd Licks the purple blossom, Crops the spiky weed! Oh, stony pasture, Where the tall mullein Stands up so sturdy On its little seed!

Produced by Tim Lindell, Charlie Howard, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The...

But your voice,--never the rushing Of a river underground, Not the rising of the wind In the trees before the rain, Not the woodcock’s watery call, Not the note the white-throat...