Florence Wilkinson Poems

Hill people turn to their hills;
   Sea-folk are sick for the sea:
Thou art my land and my country,
   And my heart calls out for thee.
...

Oh, Agathocles, fare thee well!

Naked and brave thou goest
   Without one glance behind!
...

We are they that go, that go,
Plunging before the hidden blow.
We run the byways of the earth,
For we are fugitive from birth,
...

John Brown and Jeanne at Fontainebleau --
'T was Toussaint, just a year ago;
Crimson and copper was the glow
Of all the woods at Fontainebleau.
...

They in the darkness gather and ask
Her name, the mistress of their endless task.
...