And think, this heart, all evil shed away, A pulse in the eternal mind, no less Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given; Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day; And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness, In hearts at peace, under an English heaven. * * * * * WILLIAM H. DAVIES THUNDERSTORMS My mind has thunderstorms, That brood for heavy hours: Until they rain me words, My thoughts are drooping flowers And sulking, silent birds. Yet come, dark thunderstorms, And brood your heavy hours; For when you rain me words My thoughts are dancing flowers And joyful singing birds. THE MIND'S LIBERTY The mind, with its own eyes and ears, May for these others have no care; No matter where this body is, The mind is free to go elsewhere. My mind can be a sailor, when This body's still confined to land; And turn these mortals into trees, That walk in Fleet Street or the Strand. So, when I'm passing Charing Cross, Where porters work both night and day, I ofttimes hear sweet Malpas Brook, That flows thrice fifty miles away. And when I'm passing near St Paul's, I see, beyond the dome and crowd, Twm Barlum, that green pap in Gwent, With its dark nipple in a cloud. THE MOON Thy beauty haunts me heart and soul, Oh thou fair Moon, so close and bright; Thy beauty makes me like the child That cries aloud to own thy light: The little child that lifts each arm To press thee to her bosom warm. Though there are birds that sing this night With thy white beams across their throats, Let my deep silence speak for me More than for them their sweetest notes: Who worships thee till music fails, Is greater than thy nightingales. WHEN ON A SUMMER'S MORN When on a summer's morn I wake, And open my two eyes, Out to the clear, born-singing rills My bird-like spirit flies, To hear the Blackbird, Cuckoo, Thrush, Or any bird in song; And common leaves that hum all day, Without a throat or tongue. And when Time strikes the hour for sleep, Back in my room alone, My heart has many a sweet bird's song-- And one that's all my own. A GREAT TIME Sweet Chance, that led my steps abroad, Beyond the town, where wild flowers grow-- A rainbow and a cuckoo, Lord, How rich and great the times are now! Know, all ye sheep And cows, that keep On staring that I stand so long In grass that's wet from heavy rain-- A rainbow and a cuckoo's song May never come together again; May never come This side the tomb. THE HAWK Thou dost not fly, thou art not perched, The air is all around: What is it that can keep thee set, From falling to the ground? The concentration of thy mind Supports thee in the air; As thou dost watch the small young birds, With such a deadly care.