John Freeman

Let me not see your grief!
O, let not any see
That grief,
Nor how your heart still rocks
...

Than these November skies
Is no sky lovelier. The clouds are deep;
Into their grey the subtle spies
Of colour creep,
...

There is not anything more wonderful
Than a great people moving towards the deep
Of an unguessed and unfeared future; nor
...

It was a day
All blue and lifting white,
When I went into the fields with Frank
To fly his kite.
...

Hateful it seems now, yet was I not happy?
Starved of the things I loved, I did not know
I loved them, and was happy lacking them.
...

Against the cold pale sky
The elm tree company rose high.
All the fine hues of day
That flowered so bold had died away.
...

Bind up, bind up your dark bright hair
And hide the smouldering sunken fire.
Let it be held no more than fair,
...

Wild heart, wild heart,
Where does the wind find home?
Wild heart, wild heart,
...

Far off a lonely hound
Telling his loneliness all round
To the dark woods, dark hills, and darker sea;
...

It was the lovely moon--she lifted
Slowly her white brow among
Bronze cloud-waves that ebbed and drifted
Faintly, faintlier afar.
...

Just as this wood, cast on the snaky fire,
Crushes the curling heads till smoke is thickened
And the ash sinks beneath the billet's weight,
...

Music comes
Sweetly from the trembling string
When wizard fingers sweep
Dreamily, half asleep;
...

In a great western wind we climbed the hill
And saw the clouds run up, ride high and sink;
And there were shadows running at our feet
...

Beneath the trees with heedful step and slow
At night I go,
Fearful upon their whispering to break
Lest they awake
...

For so long and so long had I forgot,
Serenely busied
With thousand things; at whiles desire grew hot
And my soul dizzied
...

The dead white on the fields' dead white
Turned the peace to misery.
Tall bony trees their wild arms thrust
...

Within the greenhouse dim and damp
The heat floats like a cloud.
Pale rose-leaves droop from the rust roof
With rust-edged roses bowed.
...

The tall slaves bow if that capricious King
But glances as he passes;
Their dark hoods drawing over abashed faces
They bow humbly, unappealingly.
...

When I had dreamed and dreamed what woman's beauty was,
And how that beauty seen from unseen surely flowed,
...

O, what insect is it
That burrows in the heart and frets
The heart's near nerves,
Leaving its unclean
...