The Courting Gate (F W Moorman Poems)
There's dew upon the meadows, An' bats are wheelin' high; The sun has set an hour sin', ...
There's dew upon the meadows, An' bats are wheelin' high; The sun has set an hour sin', ...
The throstle now in English lanes Bids Summer strew her dear delights. . . .But we, intent on cricket gains, ...
I Blue July, bright July, Month of storms and gorgeous blue; Violet lightnings o'er thy sky, Heavy falls of drenching ...
Home to old Saddleworth, home once more,How my heart is stirred to its innermost core;For I've been roaming and it's ...
Thoo doesn't think I luve theeTho' I write thee every dayWi' all t' larnin' 'at I have!I'll finnd anuther way:I'll ...
IT isn't fair to take my becks,My lile hidden tarn,My mossy springs, my waterfall,An' make all on 'em larnThi songs. ...
THE thronged boughs of the shadowy sycamoreStill bear young leaflets half the summer through;From when the robin 'gainst the unhidden ...
BIRDS in the green of my gardenBlackbirds and throstle and wren,Wet your dear wings in the tears that are Spring'sAnd ...
One morn before me were three figures seen, I With bowed necks, and joined hands, side-faced; And one behind the ...
May is Mary's month, and I Muse at that and wonder why: Her feasts follow reason, Dated due to season- ...
May is Mary's month, and I Muse at that and wonder why: Her feasts follow reason, Dated due to season- ...
O SING unto my roundelay, O drop the briny tear with me; Dance no more at holyday, Like a running ...
Late, late yestreen I saw the new Moon, With the old Moon in her arms ; And I fear, I ...
In the glad springtime when leaves were green, O merrily the throstle sings! I sought, amid the tangled sheen, Love ...
(Newdigate prize poem recited in the Sheldonian Theatre Oxford June 26th, 1878. To my friend George Fleming author of 'The ...
LIKE souls that balance joy and pain, With tears and smiles from heaven again The maiden Spring upon the plain ...
Where Claribel low-lieth The breezes pause and die, Letting the rose-leaves fall: But the solemn oak-tree sigheth, Thick-leaved, ambrosial, With ...
Where Claribel low-lieth The breezes pause and die, Letting the rose-leaves fall: But the solemn oak-tree sigheth, Thick-leaved, ambrosial, With ...
When you come home I'll not be round To welcome you. They'll take you to a grassy mound So neat ...
Slayer of the winter, art thou here again? O welcome, thou that's bring'st the summer nigh! The bitter wind makes ...
I wish it were spring in the world. Let it be spring! Come, bubbling, surging tide of sap! Come, rush ...
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