Surely to see it is peace and the crown of a life-long endeavour;

Surely to pluck it is gladness,—but they who have found it can never

Tell of the gladness and peace: they are hid from our vision for ever.

 'Twas but a moment ago that a comrade was walking near me: Turning aside from the pathway he murmured a greeting to cheer me,— Then he was lost in the shade, and I called but he did not hear me.

'Twas but a moment ago that a comrade was walking near me:

Turning aside from the pathway he murmured a greeting to cheer me,—

Then he was lost in the shade, and I called but he did not hear me.

 Why should I dream he is dead, and bewail him with passionate sorrow? Surely I know there is gladness in finding the lily of Yorrow: He has discovered it first, and perhaps I shall find it to-morrow.

Why should I dream he is dead, and bewail him with passionate sorrow?

Surely I know there is gladness in finding the lily of Yorrow:

He has discovered it first, and perhaps I shall find it to-morrow.

1894.

 THE VEERY

 The moonbeams over Arno's vale in silver flood were pouring, When first I heard the nightingale a long-lost love deploring. So passionate, so full of pain, it sounded strange and eerie; I longed to hear a simpler strain,—the wood-notes of the veery.

The moonbeams over Arno's vale in silver flood were pouring,

When first I heard the nightingale a long-lost love deploring.

So passionate, so full of pain, it sounded strange and eerie;

I longed to hear a simpler strain,—the wood-notes of the veery.

 The laverock sings a bonny lay above the Scottish heather; It sprinkles down from far away like light and love together; He drops the golden notes to greet his brooding mate, his dearie; I only know one song more sweet,—the vespers of the veery.

The laverock sings a bonny lay above the Scottish heather;

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