Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/726

 'I am gone into the fields To take what this sweet hour yields. Reflection, you may come to-morrow; Sit by the fireside with Sorrow. You with the unpaid bill, Despair,— You tiresome verse-reciter, Care,— I will pay you in the grave,— Death will listen to your stave. Expectation too, be off! To-day is for itself enough. Hope, in pity, mock not Woe With smiles, nor follow where I go; Long having lived on your sweet food, At length I find one moment's good After long pain: with all your love, This you never told me of.'

Radiant Sister of the Day, Awake! arise! and come away! To the wild woods and the plains; And the pools where winter rains Image all their roof of leaves; Where the pine its garland weaves Of sapless green and ivy dun Round stems that never kiss the sun; Where the lawns and pastures be, And the sandhills of the sea; When the melting hoar-frost wets The daisy-star that never sets, And wind-flowers, and violets Which yet join not scent to hue, Crown the pale year weak and new; When the night is left behind