Now thou art with me, angel of each day,
Each day is as an angel golden-plumed;
The old desires that tortured and consumed
Have gathered rapid wings, and sped away.
The old fierce yearning is a thing entombed
For ever 'neath the old skies cold and grey;
Upon life's grass-plots many a flower has bloomed;
The larks in blue skies murmur music gay.

O woman, woman, who canst give a crown
Sweeter than roses, richer than renown,
How long thou lingerest ere thine hands bestow, —
Yet when thou dost give, how divine a glow

The sweet face loved within the city's smoke
Is not the face that, under birch or oak,
The poet loves and sings.
The wingless love of cities changes form
When mixed with ardour of the wild sea-storm,
And takes the sea-bird's wings.

This gives to love its splendour and its bloom,
This, the background of landscape. Love for home
Hath all the world indeed.
The maiden loved within a wood of firs
Is not the maiden of the lone hill-spurs
Or austere mountain-mead.

Change place, change power of loving. — Each new place

Ten mile in twenty minutes! 'E done it, sir. That's true.
The big bay 'orse in the further stall — the one wot's next to you.
I've seen some better 'orses; I've seldom seen a wuss,
But 'e 'olds the bloomin' record, an' that's good enough for us.
'
We knew as it was in 'im. 'E's thoroughbred, three part,
We bought 'im for to race 'im, but we found 'e 'ad no 'eart;
For 'e was sad and thoughtful, and amazin' dignified,
It seemed a kind o' liberty to drive 'im or to ride;

For 'e never seemed a-thinkin' of what 'e 'ad to do,

The beauty of little things we never see;
The beauty of one leaf upon a tree
Where thousands wave:
The beauty of one shell upon the beach
Where thousands crackle at our tread, yet each
Buries a sunset in its spiral cave.

The olive-green sea-weed upon the shore,
Strewing the shingly sunlit briny floor,
With sunlight cast
Through the bright fronds: the stretch of white chalk cliff:
The white foam-streak behind the arrowy skiff:
The yellow moon against the tapering mast:

It needs a pure fresh heart to see these things.

Christopher Davis was up upon Mavis
And Sammy MacGregor on Flo,
Jo Chauncy rode Spider, the rankest outsider,
But he'd make a wooden horse go.
There was Robin and Leah and Boadicea,
And Chesterfield's Son of the Sea;
And Irish Nuneaton, who never was beaten,
They backed her at seven to three.

The course was the devil! A start on the level,
And then a stiff breather uphill;
A bank at the top with a four-foot drop,

But now beneath strange stars our spirits meet.
Those golden flowerbuds of the gracious sky,
That shone upon our youth, when you and I
Found their gold petals, falling on us, sweet —
Those ancient stars are withered with life's heat, —
The golden petals, once so smooth, are dry;
Oh, darling, heave with me one long sweet sigh
For tracks deep-trodden by lone flowerless feet.

The sorrow and loneliness are over truly, —
Life's fresh stars rise and beam upon us newly, —
Yet weep for splendours of the ancient day:

To the Memory of Alexis

Here, broader spreads the lowly creeping thyme,
Here, fairer lilies, fresher daisies, grow;
Here, springs the pride of Plora's flow'ry prime,
Blue hare-bells bud, and purple vi'lets blow.

And here, the willows weave a thicker shade,
And here, the hawthorns wear a whiter bloom;
And milder, o'er the many-colour'd mead,
Yon blossom'd furze exhale a fragrant fume.

The light of mountains, and the light of skies,
Will fade out swiftly from before thine eyes:
No more, blue seas will break.
Cast off thy faith in heaven! The earth will fade.
Cease to believe in love! No sunlit glade
Will laugh and gleam and brighten for thy sake

Thou standest now in deadly peril, friend. —
Lose faith in God and woman — all things end;
All things at least for thee.
Thy poethood, so sweet and pure and strong;
The might and force and manhood of thy song;
Thy heart's communion with the stars and sea;

To MIRA

If you in fancy's ever-blooming scenes,
Contemplative of future grandeur, rove,
Delighted gaze on F LORIO 's wide demesnes,
And blush to recollect an humbler love:

'Twere rude, dear maid! to break the golden dream,
To sweep the gaudy equipage away;
Sully the massy plater's silver gleam,
Or grind the China to its native clay.

Be far from me th' invidious cruel task,

The Lord is near when men oppress,
He helps when troubles rise;
He is my friend in deep distress,
He hears my groans and sighs.

The smiles of Jesus sweetly play
Around my toil-worn brow;
And light my path with Hope's bright ray,
That scarce was felt till now.

His arms of love sustain my soul,
And circle me around;
His hands my pains and griefs control,
He makes my joys abound.

His mercy heals each grievous smart,
And wipes the falling tear;
His grace supports my fainting heart,
And quells each rising fear.