Huge elm, with rifted trunk all notched and scarred, Like to a warrior's destiny! I love To stretch me often on thy shadowed sward, And hear the laugh of summer leaves above;...
Above the russet clods the corn is seen Sprouting its spiry points of tender green, Where squats the hare, to terrors wide awake, Like some brown clod the harrows failed to break....
O for that sweet, untroubled rest That poets oft have sung!-- The babe upon its mother's breast, The bird upon its young, The heart asleep without a pain-- When shall I know that sleep again? ...
Sweet type of innocence, snow-clothed blossom, Seemly, though vainly, bowing down to shun The storm hard-beating on thy wan white bosom, Left in the swail, and little cheer'd by sun;...
Home furthest off grows dearer from the way; And when the army in the Indias lay Friends' letters coming from his native place Were like old neighbours with their country face....
When trouble haunts me, need I sigh? No, rather smile away despair; For those have been more sad than I, With burthens more than I could bear; Aye, gone rejoicing under care...
Within a thick and spreading hawthorn bush, That overhung a molehill large and round, I heard from morn to morn a merry thrush Sing hymns to sunrise, and I drank the sound...
Age yellows my leaf with a daily decline, And nature turns sick with decay; Short is the thread on life's spool that is mine, And few are my wishes to stay: The bud, that has seen but the sun of an hour,...
Sweet chestnuts brown like soling leather turn; The larch trees, like the colour of the Sun; That paled sky in the Autumn seemed to burn, What a strange scene before us now does run--...
When in summer thou walkest In the meads by the river, And to thyself talkest, Dost thou think of one ever-- A lost and a lorn one That adores thee and loves thee? And when happy morn's gone,...
'T is Spring, my love, 'tis Spring, And the birds begin to sing: If 'twas Winter, left alone with you, Your bonny form and face Would make a Summer place, And be the finest flower that ever grew. ...
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,...
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...