My heart in hiding / Stirred for a bird,—the achieve of, the mastery of the thing!

O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall / Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. / Hold them cheap / May who ne'er hung there. / 'No worst, there is none.

How lovely the elder brother’s / Life all laced in the other’s, / Lóve-laced!—what once I well / Witnessed; so fortune fell.

How lovely the elder brother’s / Life all laced in the other’s, / Lóve-laced!—what once I well / Witnessed; so fortune fell. / When Shrovetide, two years gone, / Our boys’ plays brought on / Part was picked for John, / Young Jóhn: then fear, then joy / Ran revel in the elder boy. / Their night was come now; all / Our company thronged the hall; / Henry, by the wall, / Beckoned me beside him: / I came where called, and eyed him / By meanwhiles; making my play / Turn most on tender byplay.

What would the world be, once bereft / Of wet and wildness? Let them be left, / O let them be left, wildness and wet; / Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet.

Generations have trod, have trod, have trod; / And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil; / And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell.

Nothing is so beautiful as spring -- / When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush; / Thrush's eggs look little low heavens, and thrush / Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring / The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing; / The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush / The descending blue; that blue is all in a rushWith richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.

Now but to breathe its praise, minds me in many ways.

Mannerly-hearted! more than handsome face— / Beauty’s bearing or muse of mounting vein, / All, in this case, bathed in high hallowing grace…

Look at the stars! look, look up at the skies! / Oh look at all the fire-folk sitting in the air! / The bright boroughs, the circle-citadels there!