The Tree
Earth to Earth
On a Piece of Silver
The Escape
Wonder
Lambourn Town
The Lamp
Who is it that Answers? 
Waiting
Absence
Sleep
Your Shadow
The Full Tide
Hands
The Night Watch
The Haunted Shadow
Alone and Cold
Inevitable Change
Loneliness
I heard a Voice upon the Window beat
First Love
The Call
The Shade
Happy is England Now
The Stars in their Courses
Sweet England
Presage of Victory
The Return
English Hills
Homecoming
England’s Enemy
From Piccadilly in August
Evening Beauty:  Blackfriars
Sailing of the Glory
At the Dock
“The Men who loved the Cause that Never Dies”

PART I

THE EVENING SKY

Rose-bosom’d and rose-limb’d
With eyes of dazzling bright
Shakes Venus mid the twined boughs of the night;
Rose-limb’d, soft-stepping
From low bough to bough
Shaking the wide-hung starry fruitage—­dimmed
Its bloom of snow
By that sole planetary glow.

Venus, avers the astronomer,
Not thus idly dancing goes
Flushing the eternal orchard with wild rose. 
She through ether burns
Outpacing planetary earth,
And ere two years triumphantly returns,
And again wave-like swelling flows,
And again her flashing apparition comes and goes.

This we have not seen,
No heavenly courses set,
No flight unpausing through a void serene: 
But when eve clears,
Arises Venus as she first uprose
Stepping the shaken boughs among,
And in her bosom glows
The warm light hidden in sunny snows.

She shakes the clustered stars
Lightly, as she goes
Amid the unseen branches of the night,
Rose-limb’d, rose-bosom’d bright. 
She leaps:  they shake and pale; she glows—­
And who but knows
How the rejoiced heart aches
When Venus all his starry vision shakes;

When through his mind
Tossing with random airs of an unearthly wind,
Rose-bosom’d, rose-limb’d,
The mistress of his starry vision arises,
And the boughs glittering sway
And the stars pale away,
And the enlarging heaven glows
As Venus light-foot mid the twined branches goes.

BEECHWOOD

Hear me, O beeches!  You
That have with ageless anguish slowly risen
From earth’s still secret prison
Into the ampler prison of aery blue. 
Your voice I hear, flowing the valleys through
After the wind that tramples from the west. 
After the wind your boughs in new unrest
Shake, and your voice—­one voice uniting voices
A thousand or a thousand thousand—­flows
Like the wind’s moody; glad when he rejoices
In swift-succeeding and diminishing blows,
And drooping when declines death’s ardour in his breast;
Then over him exhausted weaving the soft fan-like noises
Of gentlest creaking stems and soothing leaves
Until he rest,
And silent too your easied bosom heaves.