Jean Ingelow

How gently rock yon poplars high
Against the reach of primrose sky
With heaven's pale candles stored.

How gently rock yon poplars high
Against the reach of primrose sky
With heaven's pale candles stored.

The moon looks upon many night flowers; the night flowers see but
one moon.

The moon looks upon many night flowers; the night flowers see but
one moon.

The old mayor climbed the belfry tower,
The ringers ran by two, by three;
"Pull, if ye read more

The old mayor climbed the belfry tower,
The ringers ran by two, by three;
"Pull, if ye never pulled before;
Good ringers, pull your best," quoth he.
"Play uppe, play uppe, O Boston bells!
Ply all your changes, all your swells,
Play uppe The Brides of Enderby."

Man is the miracle in nature. God
Is the One Miracle to man. Behold,
"There is a read more

Man is the miracle in nature. God
Is the One Miracle to man. Behold,
"There is a God," thou sayest. Thou sayest well:
In that thou sayest all. To Be is more
Of wonderful, than being, to have wrought,
Or reigned, or rested.

And O the buttercups! that field
O' the cloth of gold, when pennons swam--
Where France set read more

And O the buttercups! that field
O' the cloth of gold, when pennons swam--
Where France set up his lilied shield,
His oriflamb,
And Henry's lion-standard rolled:
What was it to their matchless sheen,
Their million million drops of gold
Among the green!