Se the Garden at Savaniton
Rightingale warbled without

Witton was weeping for thee,
Seadows of three dead men,

Walked in the walk with me;

Shadows of three dead men, & then wast one of the three.

Rightingales sang

The Muster was for away;

Regatingales warbled and sand

by passion not last but a day;

his

in his house in his coffin the Prince of Courtesy lay

Two dead men have I known,

In

Courtesy

like to thee;

Two dead men have I loved.

With in Clast of the three. Three dead then have I loved a thou art the

"

The Voice & the Peak,
For over summit & lawn,

The love flow & long roar,

Green rushing from the rosy throm of

All might have I heard the trice

Reve over the rocky bar;

But then we silent in heaven,
Above the glided the star.

Host them to voice, O Peak!
That standast high above all?
"I am the voice of the Peak;
I tour & save for I fall:

A Mousand vores 80,
To North Southe. East and West;
They leave the height & are troubled,

And moon & sink to their rest.

L

" The fields or fair beside them,
The Chestnut towers in bis bloom;
But they_ they feel the desin of the deep _
Fell and follow their doom.

"The deep has power on the height.
Auch the height has power on the deep;
They are raised for wer and ever,
And sink again into sleep"

Not raised for ever and ever,

But when their cycle & s'er,
Tee Valley, the Voice, the Peak, the Stor,

Pass and are found no more.

The Peak is high and flustid
At his highest with Sunrive fire;
The Peak is high, & the Stones bre light,
And the thought of a man is higher.

And a height beyond the theight:
Der hearing is not hearing
And on seeing is not sight.

The Voice and the Seak

For with heaven with dracon;

voor

The love glow and long Green rushing from the rosy thrones of dawn.

pareful not to remove the

THE POET'S SONG.

THE rain had fallen, the Poet arose,

He pass'd by the town and out of the street, A light wind blew from the gates of the sun,

And waves of shadow went over the wheat, And he sat him down in a lonely place,

And chanted a melody loud and sweet, That made the wild-swan pause in her cloud, And the lark drop down at his feet.

The swallow stopt as he hunted the bee,

The snake slipt under a spray,

The wild hawk stood with the down on his beak,
And stared, with his foot on the prey,

And the nightingale thought, "I have sung many songs,

But never a one so gay,

For he sings of what the world will be

When the years have died away."