“Into my heart an air that killsFrom yon far country blows:What are those blue remembered hills,What spires, what farms are those?That is the land of lost content,I see it shining plain,The happy highways where I wentAnd cannot come again.”

“I sought them far and found them, The sure, the straight, the brave, The hearts I lost my own to, The souls I could not save They braced their belts about them, They crossed in ships the sea, They sought and found six feet of ground, And there they died for me.”

“Give me a land of boughs in leafA land of trees that stand;Where trees are fallen there is grief;I love no leafless land.”

“If truth in hearts that perishCould move the powers on high,I think the love I bear youShould make you not to die.Sure, sure, if steadfast meaning,If single thought could save,The world might end to-morrow,You should not see the grave.This long and sure-set liking,This boundless will to please,-Oh, you should live for everIf there were help in these.But now, since all is idle,To this lost heart be kind,Ere to a town you journey Where friends are ill to find.”

“Down in lovely muck I’ve lain,Happy till I woke again.”

“VIII'Farewell to barn and stack and tree,Farewell to Severn shore.Terence, look your last at me,For I come home no more.'The sun burns on the half-mown hill,By now the blood is dried;And Maurice amongst the hay lies stillAnd my knife is in his side.'My mother thinks us long away;'Tis time the field were mown.She had two sons at rising day,To-night she'll be alone.'And here's a bloody hand to shake,And oh, man, here's good-bye;We'll sweat no more on scythe and rake,My blood hands and I.'I wish you strength to bring you pride,And a love to keep you clean,And I wish you luck, come Lammastide,At racing on the green.'Long for me the rick will wait,And long will wait the fold,And long will stand the empty plate,And dinner will be cold.'IXOn moonlit heath and lonesome bankThe sheep beside me graze;And yon the gallows used to clankFast by the four cross ways.A careless shepherd once would keepThe flocks by moonlight there,And high amongst the glimmering sheepThe dead man stood on air.They hang us now in Shrewsbury jail:The whistles blow forlorn.And trains all night groan on the railTo men that die at morn.There sleeps in Shrewsbury jail to-night,Or wakes, as may betide,A better lad, if things went right,Than most that sleep outside.And naked to the hangman's nooseThe morning clocks will ringA neck God made for other useThan strangling in a string.And sharp the link of life will snap,And dead on air will standHeels that held up as straight a chapAs treads upon the land.So here I'll watch the night and waitTo see the morning shine,When he will hear the stroke of eightAnd not the stroke of nine;And wish my friend as sound a sleepAs lads' I did not know,That shepherded the moonlit sheepA hundred years ago.”

“The half-moon westers low, my love,And the wind brings up the rain;And wide apart lie we, my love,And seas between the twain.I know not if it rains, my love, In the land where you do lie;And oh, so sound you sleep, my love,You know no more than I.”