Henry Alford Poems

My fairy girl, amidst her mirthful play,
Suddenly kneeling, clasps her hands in one,
And prays the words she has been taught to pray
...

We want but little: in the morning--tide,
Bread to renew our energies; at noon,
Cool shade, to quiet evening yielding soon;
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The inward pleasure of our human soul
Oweth no homage to the tyrant Will:
Whether the roving spirit take its fill
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Thou child of Man, fall down
With contrite heart and low;
Inheritor by fleshly birth
Of exile, death, and woe.
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Again those heavy tidings. On the breeze
Laden with death, they come. A thousand more
Stiff on the sod of Tauris: yon fair fleet,
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Leave love, leave life:-our moments are made up
Of fragments of desire: O that with thee
In some tree-shaded vale
I might live out my years;
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I know not how the right may be:--
But I give thanks whene'er I see
Down in the green slopes of the West
Old Glastonbury's towered crest.
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The night that is now past hath been to me
A time of wakeful, sleepful fancies: oft
Have I been whirled aloft and rapt away
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Hail to the woods once more! Hail blessed burst of the spring tide!
Float over fathomless blue the fair white clouds on the zenith:
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I sought for Novelty--in vain
I searched the stores of Nature through:
But now the object wished I gain--
Thy mercies, Lord, are ever new
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