Giant whispering and coughing from Vast Sunday-full and organ-frowned-on spaces Precede a sudden scuttle on the drum, ‘The Queen’, and huge resettling….

That Whitsun, I was late getting away:     Not till about One-twenty on the sunlit Saturday Did my three-quarters-empty train pull out, All…

He would declare and could himself believe That the birds there in all the garden round From having heard the daylong voice…

I heard a Fly buzz – when I died – The Stillness in the Room Was like the Stillness in the Air…

I would I were a careless child, Still dwelling in my Highland cave, Or roaming through the dusky wild, Or bounding o’er…