In the afternoon they came unto a land In which it seemed always afternoon.

Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere, From yon blue heavens above us bent The gardener Adam and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent. Howe'er it be, it seems t…

There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass, Or night-dews on still waters between walls Of shadowy granite, in a gle…

You sought to prove how I could love, And my disdain is my reply. The lion on your old stone gates Is not more cold to you than I.

I wonder anybody does anything at Oxford but dream and remember, the place is so beautiful. One almost expects the people to sing instead of speaking. It is al…

Withdrawn and runinous it brooods in umbra: the immemorial masonry: the towers, the tracks. Is all corroding? No. Through an avenue off spires a zephyr floats;…

To-morrow it seem Like the empty words of a dream Remembered on waking.