But little we thought of the store we'd won,

I, love, or thou; For our hearts were full, and we dared not own

The love that's spoken now.

Oh, there's wars for willing hearts in Spain,

And high Germanie!
And I'll come back, ere long, again

With knightly fame and fee:
And I'll come back, if I ever come back,

Faithful to thee,
That sat with thy white lap full of nuts,
Beneath the hazel-tree.

SAMUEL FERGUSON

MY HEART LEAPS UP

My heart leaps up when I behold

A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began,
So is it now I am a man,
So be it when I shall grow old,

Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man:

And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

THE DAFFODILS

I WANDERED lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils,
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they

Outdid the sparkling waves in glee:
A Poet could not but be gay

In such a jocund company!
I gazed — and gazed — but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

THE BEANFIELD

A BEANFIELD in blossom smells as sweet
As Araby, or groves of orange flowers;

Black-eyed and white, and feathered to one's feet, How sweet they smell in morning's dewy hours. When seething night is left upon the flowers, , Another morn's sun shines brightly o'er the field, The bean bloom glitters in the gems of showers, And sweet the fragrance which the union yields To battered footpaths crossing o'er the fields.

John CLARE

A SONG

For Mercy, Courage, Kindness, Mirth,
There is no measure upon earth.
Nay, they wither, root and stem,
If an end be set to them.

Overbrim and overflow,
If your own heart you would know;
For the spirit born to bless
Lives but in its own excess.

LAURENCE BINYON

THE MAN OF LIFE UPRIGHT

The man of life upright,

Whose cheerful mind is free
From weight of impious deeds,

And yoke of vanity;

The man whose silent days

In harmless joys are spent,

And, whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice, If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise!

ROBERT BROWNING

PREPARATIONS

Yet if His Majesty, our sovereign lord,
Should of his own accord
Friendly himself invite,
And say, “I'll be your guest to-morrow night”;
How should we stir ourselves, call and command
All hands to work! “Let no man idle stand!

"Set me fine Spanish tables in the hall;
See they be fitted all;
Let there be room to eat
And order taken that there want no meat.
See every sconce and candlestick made bright,
That without tapers they may give a light.

"Look to the presence: are the carpets spread,
The dazie o'er the head,
The cushions in the chairs,
And all the candles lighted on the stairs?
Perfume the chambers, and in any case
Let each man give attendance in his place.".

Thus, if a king were coming, would we do;
And 't were good reason too;

For 't is a duteous thing
To show all honour to an earthly king,
And after all our travail and our cost,
So he be pleased, to think no labour lost.

But at the coming of the King of Heaven
All's set at six and seven;
We wallow in our sin,
Christ cannot find a chamber in the inn.
We entertain him always like a stranger,
And, as at first, still lodge him in the manger.

ANONYMOUS

NOW THAT THE WINTER'S GONE

Now that the winter's gone, the earth hath lost
Her snow-white robes, and now no more the frost
Candies the grass, or culls an icy cream
Upon the silver lake, or crystal stream;
But the warm sun thaws the benumb'd earth
And makes it tender; gives a second birth
To the dead swallow; wakes in hollow tree
The drowsy cuckoo, and the humble bee;
Now do a choir of chirping minstrels bring
In triumph to the world the youthful Spring.

THOMAS CAREW

PAN

Sing his praises that doth keep

Our flocks from harm,