There rolls the deep where grew the tree. O earth, what changes hast thou seen! There where the long street roars, hath been The stillness of the central sea. The hills are shadows, and they flow From form to form, and nothing stands; They melt like mist, the solid lands, Like clouds they shape themselves and go.

That loss is common would not make My own less bitter, rather more: Too common! Never morning wore To evening, but some heart did break.

I cannot rest from travel; I will drink Life to the lees.

So now I have sworn to bury All this dead body of hate I feel so free and so clear By the loss of that dead weight

Blow trumpet, for the world is white with May.

If I had a flower for every time I thought of you...I could walk through my garden forever.

And so the Word had breath, and wrought With human hands the creed of creeds In loveliness of perfect deeds, More strong than all poetic thoughts; Which he may read that binds the sheaf, Or builds the house, or digs the grave, And those wild eyes that watch the waves In roarings round the coral reef.