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I         I saw a slowly-stepping train —Lined on the brows, scoop-eyed and bent and hoar —Following in files across a twilit plainA strange and mystic form the foremost bore. II          And by contagious…

When you slowly emerged from the den of Time,And gained percipience as you grew,And fleshed you fair out of shapeless slime, Wherefore, O Man, did there come to youThe unhappy need of creating me —A form like your own for…

(Algernon Charles Swinburne, 1837-1909) In this fair niche above the unslumbering sea, That sentrys up and down all night, all day, From cove to promontory, from ness to bay, The Fates have fitly bidden that he should be    …

(With thoughts of Leslie Stephen)                (June 1897) Aloof, as if a thing of mood and whim;Now that its spare and desolate figure gleamsUpon my nearing vision, less it seemsA looming Alp-height than a guise…

I     I look upon the map that hangs by me —Its shires and towns and rivers lined in varnished artistry —         And I mark a jutting height    Coloured purple, with a margin of blue sea. II  …

I         I shall rot here, with those whom in their day         You never knew,        And alien ones who, ere they chilled to clay,         Met not my view,    Will in your distant grave-place ever neighbour you. II    …

There are some heights in Wessex, shaped as if by a kindly handFor thinking, dreaming, dying on, and at crises when I stand,Say, on Ingpen Beacon eastward, or on Wylls-Neck westwardly,I seem where I was before my birth, and after…

My spirit will not haunt the mound      Above my breast,But travel, memory-possessed,To where my tremulous being found      Life largest, best. My phantom-footed shape will go      When nightfall graysHither and thither along the waysI and…

I play my sweet old airs —      The airs he knew      When our love was true —      But he does not balk      His determined walk,And passes up the stairs. I sing my…

        If ever joy leave    An abiding sting of sorrow,    So befell it on the morrow        Of that May eve . . .         The travelled sun dropped    To the north-west, low and lower,    The pony’s trot grew slower,        And then we stopped.         “This cosy house just by    I…