Bird of the morn, When roseate clouds begin To show the opening dawn Thou gladly sing'st it in, And o'er the sweet green fields and happy vales Thy pleasant song is heard, mixed with the morning gales....
The World, its hopes and fears, have pass'd away; No more its trifling thou shalt feel or see; Thy hopes are ripening in a brighter day, While these left buds thy monument shall be....
Simple enchantress! wreath'd in summer blooms Of slender bent-stalks topt with feathery down, Heath's creeping vetch, and glaring yellow brooms, With ash-keys wavering on thy rushy crown;...
In Fancy's eye, what an extended span, Time, hoary herald, has been stretch'd by thee: Vain to conceive where thy dark burst began, Thou birthless, boundless, vast immensity!...
Wordsworth I love, his books are like the fields, Not filled with flowers, but works of human kind; The pleasant weed a fragrant pleasure yields, The briar and broomwood shaken by the wind,...
The turkeys wade the close to catch the bees In the old border full of maple trees And often lay away and breed and come And bring a brood of chelping chickens home. The turkey gobbles loud and drops his rag...
The setting Sun withdraws his yellow light, A gloomy staining shadows over all, While the brown beetle, trumpeter of Night, Proclaims his entrance with a droning call....
I met thee like the morning, though more fair, And hopes 'gan travel for a glorious day; And though night met them ere they were aware, Leading the joyous pilgrims all astray,...
And what is Life?--An hour-glass on the run, A mist retreating from the morning sun, A busy, bustling, still repeated dream; Its length?--A minute's pause, a moment's thought;...
And what is Life? An hour-glass on the run, A mist retreating from the morning sun, A busy, bustling, still repeated dream; Its length?--A minute's pause, a moment's thought;...
How many times Spring blossoms meek Have faded on the land Since last I kissed that pretty cheek, Caressed that happy hand. Eight time the green's been painted white With daisies in the grass...
I saw her crop a rose Right early in the day, And I went to kiss the place Where she broke the rose away And I saw the patten rings Where she oer the stile had gone, And I love all other things...
These children of the sun which summer brings As pastoral minstrels in her merry train Pipe rustic ballads upon busy wings And glad the cotters' quiet toils again....
WILLIAM. When I meet Peggy in my morning walk, She first salutes the morn, then stays to talk: The biggest secret she will not refuse, But freely tells me all the village-news;...
The small wind whispers through the leafless hedge Most sharp and chill, where the light snowy flakes Rest on each twig and spike of wither'd sedge, Resembling scatter'd feathers;--vainly breaks...
Thou Winter, thou art keen, intensely keen; Thy cutting frowns experience bids me know, For in thy weather days and days I've been, As grinning north-winds horribly did blow,...
The holly bush, a sober lump of green, Shines through the leafless shrubs all brown and grey, And smiles at winter be it eer so keen With all the leafy luxury of May. And O it is delicious, when the day...
The yellow lambtoe I have often got, Sweet creeping o'er the banks in summer-time, And totter-grass, in many a trembling knot; And robb'd the molehill of its bed of thyme:...