If Pegasus will let thee only ride him, Spurning my clumsy efforts to o'erstride him, Some fresh expedient the Muse will try, And walk on stilts, although she cannot fly.
Now as Heaven is my Lot, they're the Pests of the Nation! Wherever they can come With clankum and blankum 'Tis all Botheration, & Hell & Damnation, With fun, jeering Conjuring Sky-staring,...
Since all, that beat about in Nature's range, Or veer or vanish; why should'st thou remain The only constant in a world of change, O yearning THOUGHT! that liv'st but in the brain?...
... O Liberty! with profitless endeavour Have I pursued thee, many a weary hour; But thou nor swell'st the victor's strain, nor ever Didst breathe thy soul in forms of human power....
This Sycamore, oft musical with bees, Such tents the Patriarchs loved! O long unharmed May all its ag'd boughs o'er-canopy The small round basin, which this jutting stone...
And this reft house is that the which he built, Lamented Jack! And here his malt he pil'd, Cautious in vain! These rats that squeak so wild, Squeak, not unconscious of their father's guilt....
With Donne, whose muse on dromedary trots, Wreathe iron pokers into true-love knots; Rhyme's sturdy cripple, fancy's maze and clue, Wit's forge and fire-blast, meaning's press and screw.
How warm this woodland wild Recess! Love surely hath been breathing here; And this sweet bed of heath, my dear! Swells up, then sinks with faint caress, As if to have you yet more near. ...
Low was our pretty Cot: our tallest Rose Peep'd at the chamber-window. We could hear At silent noon, and eve, and early morn, The Sea's faint murmur. In the open air...
Dear native brook! wild streamlet of the West! How many various-fated years have passed, What happy and what mournful hours, since last I skimmed the smooth thin stone along thy breast,...
Of late, in one of those most weary hours, When life seems emptied of all genial powers, A dready mood, which he who ne'er has known May bless his happy lot, I sate alone;...
My pensive SARA! thy soft cheek reclined Thus on mine arm, most soothing sweet it is To sit beside our Cot, our Cot o'ergrown With white-flower'd Jasmin, and the broad-leav'd Myrtle,...
Ere on my bed my limbs I lay, It hath not been my use to pray With moving lips or bended knees; But silently, by slow degrees, My spirit I to Love compose, In humble trust mine eyelids close,...