Here they are. The soft eyes open.
If they have lived in a wood
It is a wood.
If they have lived on plains
It is grass rolling
Under their feet forever.

Having no souls, they have come,
Anyway, beyond their knowing.
Their instincts wholly bloom
And they rise.
The soft eyes open.

To match them, the landscape flowers,
Outdoing, desperately
Outdoing what is required:
The richest wood,
The deepest field.

For some of these,
It could not be the place
It is, without blood.
These hunt, as they have done,

Here the young lover, on his elbow raised,
Looked at his happy girl with grass surrounded,
And flicked the spotted beetle from her wrist:
She, with her head thrown back, at heaven gazed,
At Suffolk clouds, serene and slow and mounded;
Then calmly smiled at him before they kissed.

Here the human past is dim and feeble and alien to us
Our ghosts draw from the crowded future.
Fixed as the past how could it fail to drop weird shadows
And make strange murmurs about twilight?
In the dawn twilight metal falcons flew over the mountain,
Multitudes, and faded in the air; at moonrise
The farmer's girl by the still river is afraid of phantoms,
Hearing the pulse of a great city
Move on the water-meadow and stream off south; the country's
Children for all their innocent minds

Here stood a Lofty church — there is a steeple,
And there the Grand Parade — O see the people!
That Famouse Castle there, were I but nigh,
To see the mote and Bridg and walls so high —
They'r very fine! sais my deluded eye.

Here stands a good old apple tree,
Stand fast root, stand fast bough,
Every little twig bears an apple big,
Every little bough bears an apple now.
Hatful, capful, pocketful, lapful,
Holla, boys, holla, hip hip hurrah!

Here sown to dust lies one that drave
The furrow through his heart;
Now, of the fields he died to save
His own dust forms a part.

Where went the tramp of martial feet,
The blare of trumpets loud,
Comes silence with her winding sheet,
And shadow with her shroud.

His mind no longer counsel takes,
No sword his hand need draw,
Across whose borders peace now makes
Inviolable law.

So, with distraction round him stilled,
Now let him be content!
And time from age to age shall build
His standing monument.

Here shadow lie
Whil'st life is sadd,
Still hopes to die
To him she hadd

In bliss is hee,
Whom I lov'd best
Thrise happie shee
With him to rest.

So shall I be
With him I loved
And hee with mee
And both us blessed

Love made me Poet
And this I writt,
My harte did doe yt
And not my witt.

Here room and kingly silence keep
Companionship in state austere;
The dignity of death is here,
The large, lone vastness of the deep;
Here toil has pitched his camp to rest:
The west is banked against the west.

Above yon gleaming skies of gold
One lone imperial peak is seen;
While gathered at his feet in green
Ten thousand foresters are told:
And all so still! so still the air
That duty drops the web of care.

Beneath the sunset's golden sheaves
The awful deep walks with the deep,
Where silent sea doves slip and sweep,

Here, or not many feet from hence
The virtue lies call'd Patience.
Sickness and Death did do her honour
By loosing paine and feare upon her.
Tis true they forst her to a grave,
That's all the triumph that they have, —
A silly one; retreat o'er night
Proves conquest in a morning fight.
She will rise up against them both;
All sleep, believe it, is not sloth.
And thou that read'st her elegie,
Take something of her historie:
She had one husband and one sonne;
Ask who they were, and thou hast done.

Here on this hill hay-making is over.
Tomorrow in the paddies let's reap the rice.

Sun's already sinking. Valleys grow dark.
Horse, we're going — carry the hay on your back.

Autumn's over. On the path between the paddies,
that must be another bride — five lanterns.