Nara Nog, by Maurice Browne
Rank growth of grass, and columns overthrown,
Black pools of rain, and icy storm-swept height...
Poems by Maurice Browne
Summer in England, by Maurice Browne
Summer in England, winter in my heart:
So England, England, all I love thou art,
And thou ...
To Dawn, by Maurice Browne
Thou that of twilight art fashioned,
Starlight and moonlight and mist,
Soul the high gods hav...
To Her Who Passes, by Maurice Browne
Her footsteps fall in silent sands;
Her hands are cool like growing leaves;
The fingers of he...
At Dawn, by Maurice Browne
No wild-foot Dryad haunts this leafless glade
With woodland lures, old weird lures chanted long...
At Dusk, by Maurice Browne
Be still, she sleeps. Yea, there is stillness here:
No voices come to rouse the dreamless dea...