trong, eternal Will,
O Mother mountains! billowing far to the snow-lands,
O Music hast thou only heard
O who will walk a mile with me
O wonderful! How liquid clear
O youngest of the giant brood
Oh, gallantly they fared forth in khaki and in blue,
Oh, quick to feel the lightest touch
Oh, the angler's path is a very merry way,
Oh, was I born too soon, my dear, or were you born too late,
Oh, what do you know of the song, my dear,
Oh, why are you shining so bright, big Sun,
Once, only once, I saw it clear,--
One sail in sight upon the lonely sea,
Only a little shrivelled seed,

Peace without Justice is a low estate,--

Read here, O friend unknown,
Remember, when the timid light

Saints are God's flowers, fragrant souls
Self is the only prison that can ever bind the soul:
Ship after ship, and every one with a high-resounding name,
Sign of the Love Divine
Some three-score years and ten ago
Soul of a soldier in a poet's frame,
Stand back, ye messengers of mercy! Stand
Stand fast, Great Britain!

The British bard who looked on Eton's walls,
The clam that once, on Jersey's banks,
The cornerstone in Truth is laid,
The cradle I have made for thee
The day returns by which we date our years:
The fire of love was burning, yet so low
The gabled roofs of old Malines
The glory of ships is an old, old song,
The grief that is but feigning,
The heavenly hills of Holland,--
The laggard winter ebbed so slow
The land was broken in despair,
The melancholy gift Aurora gained
The moonbeams over Arno's vale in silver flood were pouring,
The mountains that inclose the vale
The nymphs a shepherd took
The other night I had a dream, most clear
The record of a faith sublime,
The river of dreams runs quietly down
The roar of the city is low,
The rough expanse of democratic sea
The shadow by my finger cast
The tide, flows in to the harbour,--
The time will come when I no more can play
The winds of war-news change and veer:
The worlds in which we live at heart are one,
There are many kinds of anger, as many kinds of fire:
There are many kinds of love, as many kinds of light,
There are songs for the morning and songs for the night,
There is a bird I know so well,
They tell me thou art rich, my country: gold
This is the soldier brave enough to tell
This is the window's message,
Thou warden of the western gate, abov