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The brook along the Romsey road 3
A portly Wood-louse, full of cares 5
When the wind blows without the garden walls 7
How late in the wet twilight doth that bird 8
Of Sorrow, ’tis as Saints have said 9
Within our garden walls you see 10
The fuchsias dangle on their stem 11
My night-dress hangs on fire-guard rail 12
While I stand upon the pavement and I dress the
dusty stall 13
When by the fire-light Dulcibel 15
Whom meet we, Betsey, in the wood? 16
How few alack 17
’Tis the old wife at Rickling, she 19
Pull out my couch across the fire 21
When the Wind comes up the lane 22
What dusky branches fret the yellow sky 23
Three candles had her cake 25
The Baby slumbers through the night 26
With a full house of other folks 27
He who a mangold-patch doth hoe 30
Throw up the cinders, let the night wear through 31
When elm-buds turn from red to green 32
Vainly, my Betsey, to the weeping day 34
O the trucks that leave Southampton bring a smell
of twine and tar 36
When the young Spring in Betsey’s fingers sets 38
Permit, Dear Sir, that the judicious grieve 39
’Twas bought in Bruges, the shop was poor 41
The sun sank, and the wind uprist whose note 43
My Betsey-Jane it would not do 45
In Bethlehem Town by lantern light 46
Playthings my Betsey hath, the snail’s cast shell 48
I am not lightly moved, my grief was dumb 49
You taught me ways of gracefulness and fashions
of address 51
You that have fenced about my storm-swept ways 52
Pardon, Dear Sir, if with intrusive pen 53
When I was small, great joy it was to see 56
We came on Christmas Day 57
On the high frosty fields afoot at dawn 59
Now night hath fallen on the little town 60
Dear, the delightful world I see 61
So ’tis your will to have a cell 63
My Sorrow diligent would sweep 65
Here lies A. B. who, four years from her birth 67
On the painted bridge at Mottisfont above the Test
I’ve stood 70
It is told of the painter Da Vinci 72
Follow, my Betsey-Jane, as best you can 75
Scarce hath the crookèd scythe 77
Four-paws, the kitten from the farm 79
Four-paws, we know the sun is white 81
Time, cunning smith, hath set you in my heart 83
I saw myself encircled in the grey 84
Now candle-flames disperse the rout 86
In Sarum Close, when she had said her say 87
O thou who ’neath the umbrageous trees 88
The world’s a quarry for whose spoils 89
Whiffin, with all thy faults, I love thee still 90
An old white Jocko, kindly and urbane 91
By brook and bent 98
So now my Thames is fairly on the turn 100
So, dear, have you and Nurse conspired 101
Four alders guard a bridge of planks 103
Quite given o’er to shameful destinies 105
O valiant reach of land that doth include 105
The shop-girl in my fingers laid 107
The common pavement dull and grey 108
She ate her oat-cake by the fire 109
Here, Betsey, where the sainfoin blows 110
You to whose soul a death propitious brings 112
The mallow blooms in late July 117
Now Hertha hath, without a doubt 118
Prythee what mad contentments canst thou find 119
When Sir Matho lay a-dying and his feet were
growing cold 120
Yourself in bed 124
Lord, when to Thine embrace I run 126