famous poetry

with the meek, brown eyes
do the boys and girls still go
come down at dawn from windless hills
made up of loveliness alone
passing through huddled and ugly walls
not from the whole wide world
sitting in his rocker waiting for your tea
along the banks
in the sphere
the meadow was creeping
night was black and drear
she has a clear, wind-sheltered loveliness
i walk down the garden paths
who will be naming the wind