Photo & Poem Gallery

Fair Daffodils, we weep to see
You Haste away so soon:
And yet the early-rising sun
Has not attain’d his noon.
Stay, stay,
Until the hasting day 
Has run 
But to the ever-song.

On a tree by a river a little tom-tit

Sang "Willow, tit willow, tit willow"

And I said to him, "Dicky-bird, why do you sit

Singing 'Willow, tit willow, tit willow'"

"Is it weakness of intellect, birdie?" I cried

When I was one-and-twenty
       I heard a wise man say,
“Give crowns and pounds and guineas
       But not your heart away;
Give pearls away and rubies
       But keep your fancy free.”
But I was one-and-twenty,
       No use to talk to me.

The tulips make me want to paint,
Something about the way they drop
Their petals on the tabletop
And do not wilt so much as faint,
 
Something about their burnt-out hearts,
Something about their pallid stems
Wearing decay like diadems,

Live thy Life,
Young and old,
Like yon oak,
Bright in spring,
Living gold;

Summer-rich
Then; and then
Autumn-changed
Soberer-hued
Gold again.

All his leaves
Fall'n at length,
Look, he stands,

I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I
Did, till we loved? Were we not weaned till then? 
But sucked on country pleasures, childishly? 
Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers’ den? 
’Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be. 
If ever any beauty I did see, 

I have often walked down this street before
But the pavement always stayed beneath my feet before
All at once am I several stories high
Knowing I'm on the street where you live

Are there lilac trees in the heart of town?

In winter 
    all the singing is in 
         the tops of the trees 
             where the wind-bird 

with its white eyes 
    shoves and pushes 
         among the branches. 
             Like any of us 

When the panther came

no belfry rang alarums,

no cleric spat his tea.

When the panther came

the sky an lawn were still.

The panther came

through forest,

through field,

up to the wall

and my one blossoming cherry tree.

The jaws of the cliff
Stood square against the soft hands
Of a first snowfall.
 
Yet children do not
Cry out nor do they plead once;
Snow dampens the wood.
 
You had said one thing,
And someone else another;
Outside, winter waits.