The Blind Boy

O SAY what is that thing call’d Light, Which I must ne’er enjoy; What are the blessings of the sight, O tell your poor blind boy! You talk of wondrous things you see, You say the sun shines bright; I feel him warm, but how can he Or make it day or night? My day … More The Blind Boy

An Epitaph

Here lies a most beautiful lady, Light of step and heart was she; I think she was the most beautiful lady That ever was in the West Country. But beauty vanishes, beauty passes; However rare — rare it be; And when I crumble,who will remember This lady of the West Country. Walter de la Mare

The Sick Rose

O Rose thou art sick. The invisible worm. That flies in the night In the howling storm: Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy: And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy. William Blake

Meeting At Night.

The grey sea and the long black land; And the yellow half-moon large and low; And the startled little waves that leap In fiery ringlets from their sleep, As I gain the cove with pushing prow, And quench its speed i’ the slushy sand. Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach; Three fields to cross … More Meeting At Night.