The Poetry Of The Earth Is Never

There Is A Budding Tomorrow In Midnight.

I Love Your Hills And I Love Your Dales, And I Love Your Flocks A-bleating; But Oh, On The Heather To Lie Together, With Both Our Hearts A-beating!

Where Soil Is, Men Grow, Whether To Weeds Or Flowers.

A Drainless Shower Of Light Is Poesy: 'tis The Supreme Of Power; 'tis Might Half Slumbering On Its Own Right Arm.

Thou Foster-child Of Silence And Slow Time.