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She dwells with Beauty Beauty that must die ; For his great Maker's presence, but must know
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips

What 'tis I mean, and feel his being glow:
Bidding adieu ; and aching Pleasure nigh, Therefore no insult will I give his spirit,

Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips : By telling what he sees from native merit.
Ay, in the very temple of Delight
Veild Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous O Poesy! for thee I hold my pen,

That am not yet a glorious denizen
Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine ; of thy wide heaven—should I rather kneel
His soul shall taste the sadness of her might, Upon some mountain-top until I feel
And be among her cloudy trophies hung. A glowing splendor round about me hung,

And echo back the voice of thine own tongue !
O Poesy! for thee I grasp my pen
That am not yet a glorious denizen

of thy wide heaven; yet, to my ardent prayer, SLEEP AND POETRY.

Yield from thy sanctuary some clear air,

Smoothed for intoxication by the breath As I lay in my bed slepe full unmete

Of flowering bays, that I may die a death Was unto me, but why that I ne might

of luxury, and my young spirit follow Rest I ne wist, for there n' as erthly wight (As I suppose) had more of hertis ese

The morning sunbeams to the great Apollo,
Than I, for I n' ad sicknesse nor disese.

Like a fresh sacrifice; or, if I can bear

The o'erwhelming sweets, 't will bring to me the fair

Visions of all places: a bowery nook What is more gentle than a wind in summer?

Will be elysium-an eternal book

Whence I may copy many a lovely saying What is more soothing than the pretty hummer

About the leaves, and flowers_about the playing That stays one moment in an open flower,

Of nymphs in woods, and fountains ; and the shade And buzzes cheerily from bower to bower? What is more tranquil than a musk-rose blowing

Keeping a silence round a sleeping maid ; In a green island, far from all men's knowing ?

And many a verse from so strange influence More healthful than the leafiness of dales?

That we must ever wonder how, and whence More secret than a nest of nightingales ?

It came. Also imaginings will hover More serene than Cordelia's countenance ?

Round my fire-side, and haply there discover More full of visions than a high romance?

Vistas of solemn beauty, where I'd wander What, but thee, Sleep? Soft closer of our eyes!

In happy silence, like the clear Meander Low murmurer of tender lullabies !

Through its lone vales; and where I found a spot Light hoverer around our happy pillows !

Of awfuller shade, or an enchanted grot, Wreather of poppy buds, and weeping willows !

Or a green hill o'erspread with chequer'd dress Silent entangler of a beauty's tresses!

Of flowers, and fearful from its loveliness, Most happy listener! when the morning blesses

Write on my tablets all that was permitted,

All that was for our human senses fitted. Thee for enlivening all the cheerful eyes

Then the events of this wide world I'd seize That glance so brightly at the new sunrise.

Like a strong giant, and my spirit tease

Till all its shoulders it should proudly see
But what is higher beyond thought than thee?

Wings to find out an immortality.
Fresher than berries of a mountain-tree?
More strange, more beautiful, more smooth, more regal,
'Than wings of swans, than doves, than dim-seen eagle? Stop and consider! life is but a day;
What is it? And to what shall I compare it?

A fragile dew-drop on its perilous way
It has a glory, and naught else can share it: From a tree's summit; a poor Indian's sleep
The thought thereof is awful, sweet, and holy, While his boat hastens to the monstrous steep
Chasing away all worldliness and folly:

of Montmorenci. Why so sad a moan? Coming sometimes like fearful claps of thunder;

Life is the rose's hope while yet unblown; Or the low rumblings earth's regions under; The reading of an ever-changing tale; And sometimes like a gentle whispering

The light uplifting of a maiden's veil; Of all the secrets of some wondrous thing

A pigeon tumbling in clear summer air ; That breathes about us in the vacant air;

A laughing school-boy, without grief or care,
So that we look around with prying stare,

Riding the springy branches of an elm.
Perhaps to see shapes of light, aerial lymning,
And catch soft floatings from a faint-heard hymning;
To see the laurel-wreath, on high suspended, O for ten years, that I may overwhelm
That is to crown our name when life is ended.
Soinetimes it gives a glory to the voice,

Myself in poesy! so I may do the deed
And from the heart up-springs, Rejoice! rejoice!

That my own soul has to itself decreed. Sounds which will reach the Framer of all things, In long perspective, and continually

Then I will pass the countries that I see And die away in ardent mutterings.

Taste their pure fountains. First the realm I'll pass

of Flora, and old Pan : sleep in the grass, No one who once the glorious sun has seen, Feed upon apples red, and strawberries, And all the clouds, and felt his bosom clean And choose each pleasure that my fancy ses;

Catch the white-handed nymphs in shady places, Upon the clouds ? · Has she not shown us all ? To woo sweet kisses from averted faces,

From the clear space of ether, to the small Play with their fingers, touch their shoulders white Breath of new buds unfolding? From the meaning Into a pretty shrinking with a bite

Of Jove's large eye-brow, to the tender greening As hard as lips can make it: till agreed,

of April meadows ? Here her altar shone, A lovely tale of human life we'll read.

E'en in this isle ; and who could paragon And one will teach a tame dove how it best The fervid choir that lifted up a noise May fan the cool air gently o'er my rest :

Of harmony, 10 where it aye will poise
Another, bending o'er her nimble tread,

Its mighty self of convoluting sound,
Will set a green robe floating round her head, Huge as a planet, and like that roll round,
And still will dance with ever-varied ease, Eternally around a dizzy void ?
Smiling upon the Nowers and the trees :

Ay, in those days the Muses were nigh cloy'd Another will entice me on, and on

With honors; nor had any other care
Through almond blossoms and rich cinnamon; Than to sing out and soothe their wavy hair
Till in the bosom of a leafy world
We rest in silence, like two gems upcurl'd

Could all this be forgotten? Yes, a schism
In the recesses of a pearly shell.

Nurtured by foppery and barbarism,

Made great Apollo blush for this his land. And can I ever bid these joys farewell ?

Men were thought wise who could not understand Yes, I must pass them for a nobler life,

His glories: with a puling infant's force Where I may find the agonies, the strife

They sway'd about upon a rocking-horse, Of human hearts: for lo! I see afar,

And thought it Pegasus. Ah, dismal-soul'd! O'er-sailing the blue cragginess, a car

The winds of Heaven blew, the ocean roll'd And steeds with streamy manes—the charioteer

Its gathering waves—ye felt it not. The blue Looks out upon the winds with glorious fear: Bared its eternal bosom, and the dew And now the numerous tramplings quiver lightly Of summer night collected still to make Along a huge cloud's ridge; and now with sprightly The morning precious: Beauty was awake! Wheel downward come they into fresher skies, Why were ye not awake? But ye were dead Tipt round with silver from the sun's bright eyes. To things ye knew not of.-were closely wed Sull downward with capacious whirl they glide; To musty laws lined out with wretched rule And now I see them on a green hill-side

And compass vile: so that ye taught a school In breezy rest among the nodding stalks.

Of dolts to smooth, inlay, and clip, and fit, The charioteer with wondrous gesture talks Till, like the certain wands of Jacob's wit, To the trees and mountains; and there soon appear Their verses tallied. Easy was the task : Shapes of delight, of mystery, and fear,

A thousand handicraftsmen wore the mask Passing along before a dusky space

Of Poesy. Ill-lated, impious race! Made by some mighty oaks: as they would chase That blasphemed the bright Lyrist to his face, Some ever-fleeting music, on they sweep.

And did not know it,—no, they went about,
Lo! how they murmur, laugh, and smile, and weep: Holding a poor, decrepit standard out,
Some with upholden hand and mouth severe; Mark'd with most flimsy mottoes, and in large
Some with their faces muffled to the ear

The name of one Boileau !
Between their arms; some clear in youthful bloom,
Go glad and smilingly athwart the gloom ;
Some looking back, and some with upward gaze ;

O ye whose charge Yes, thousands in a thousand different ways

It is to hover round our pleasant hills ! Flit onward—now a lovely wreath of girls

Whose congregated majesty so fills Dancing their sleek hair into tangled curls ;

My boundly reverence, that I cannot ace And now broad wings. Most awfully intent

Your hallow'd names, in this unholy place, The driver of those steeds is forward bent,

So near those common folk ; did not their shames And seems to listen: 0 that I might know

Affright you? Did our old lamenting Thames All that he writes with such a hurrying glow!

Delight you ! did ye never cluster round
Delicious Avon, with a mournful sound,

And weep? Or did ye wholly bid adieu
The visions all are fled the car is fled

To regions where no more the laurel grew ?
Into the light of heaven, and in their stead

Or did ye stay to give a welcoming
A sense of real things comes doubly strong, To some lone spirits who could proudly sing
And, like a muddy stream, would bear along

Their youth away, and die? 'T was even so : My soul to nothingness : but I will strive

But let me think away those times of woe: Against all doubtings, and will keep alive

Now 't is a fairer season ; ye have breathed The thought of that same chariot, and the strange Rich benedictions o'er us; ye have wreathed Journey it went

Fresh garlands : for sweet music has been hean!

In many places; some has been upstirr'd
Is there so small a range

From out its crystal dwelling in a lake,
In the present strength of manhood, that the high By a swan's ebon bill; from a thick brake,
Imagination cannot freely fly

Nested and quiet in a valley mild,
As she was wont of old ? prepare her steeds, Bubbles a pipe ; fine sounds are floating wild
Paw up against the light, and do strange deeds About the earth : happy are ye and glad.

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These things are, doubtless : yet in truth we've had the end and aim of Poesy. "Tis clear
Strange thunders from the potency of song ; As any thing most true; as that the year
Mingled indeed with what is sweet and strong, Is made of the four seasons-manifest
From majesty : but in clear truth the themes As a large cross, some old cathedral's crest,
Are ugly cubs, the Poets' Polyphemes

Lifted to the white clouds. Therefore should I
Disturbing the grand sea. A drainless shower Be but the essence of deformity,
Of light is poesy; 'tis the supreme of power; A coward, did my very eyelids wink
'Tis might half-slumb'ring on its own right arm. At speaking out what I have dared to think
The very archings of her eyelids charm

Ah! rather let me like a madman run A thousand willing agents to obey,

Over some precipice; let the hot sun And still she governs with the mildest sway: Melt my Dedalian wings, and drive me down But strength alone though of the Muses born Convulsed and headlong! Stay! an inward frown Is like a fallen angel : trees uptorn,

Of conscience bids me be more calm awhile. Darkness, and worms, and shrouds, and sepulchres An ocean dim, sprinkled with many an isle, Delight it; for it feeds upon the burrs

Spreads awfully before me. How much toil! And thorns of life ; forgetting the great end How many days! what desperate turmoil ! Of poesy, that it should be a friend

Ere I can have explored its widenesses. To soothe the cares, and lift the thoughts of man. Ah, what a task! upon my bended knees,

I could unsay those-no, impossible

Yet I rejoice: a myrtle fairer than
E’er grew in Paphos, from the bitter weeds
Lifts its sweet head into the air, and feeds

For sweet relief I'll dwell
A silent space with ever-sprouting green.

On humbler thoughts, and let this strange essay All tenderest birds there find a pleasant screen,

Begun in gentleness die so away. Creep through the shade with jaunty fluttering, E'en now all tumult from my bosom fades: Nibble the little cupped flowers, and sing. I turn full-hearted to the friendly aids Then let us clear away the choking thorns That smooth the path of honor; brotherhood, From round its gentle stem; let the young fawns, And friendliness, the nurse of mutual good. Yeaned in after-times, when we are flown, The hearty grasp that sends a pleasant sonnet Find a fresh sward beneath it, overgrown

Into the brain ere one can think upon it; With simple flowers : let there nothing be

The silence when some rhymes are coming out; More boisterous than a lover's bended knee ; And when they're come, the very pleasant rout. Naught more ungentle than the placid look The message certain to be done tomorrow. Of one who leans upon a closed book;

'Tis perhaps as well that it should be to borrow Naught more untranquil than the grassy slopes Some precious book from out its snug retreat, Between two hills. All hail, delightful hopes ! To cluster round it when we next shall meet. As she was wont, th' imagination

Scarce can I scribble on; for lovely airs Into most lovely labyrinths will be gone,

Are fluttering round the room like doves in pairs; And they shall be accounted poet kings

Many delights of that glad day recalling,
Who simply tell the most heart-easing things. When first my senses caught their tender falling.
O may these joys be ripe before I die !

And with these airs come forms of elegance
Stooping their shoulders o'er a horse's prance,

Careless, and grand-fingers soft and round
Will not some say that I presumptuously

Parting luxuriant curls ;-and the swift bound Have spoken? that from hastening disgrace Of Bacchus from his chariot, when his eye 'T were better far to hide my foolish face? Made Ariadne's cheek look blushingly. That whining boyhood should with reverence bow Thus I remember all the pleasant flow Ere the dread thunderbolt could reach ? How! Of words at opening a portfolio. If I do hide myself, it sure shall be In the very fane, the light of Poesy : If I do fall, at least I will be laid

Things such as these are ever harbingers Beneath the silence of a poplar shade;

To trains of peaceful images : the stirs And over me the grass shall be smooth shaven; Of a swan's neck unseen among the rushes. And there shall be a kind memorial graven. A linnet starting all about the bushes : But off, Despondence! miserable bane!

A butterfly, with golden wings broad-parted, They should not know thee, who athirst to gain Nestling a rose, convulsed as though it smarted A noble end, are thirsty every hour.

With over-pleasure—many, many more, What though I am not wealthy in the dower Might l indulge at large in all my store Of spanning wisdom; though I do not know Of luxuries : yet I must not forget The shiftings of the mighty winds that blow Sleep, quiet with his poppy coronet : Hither and thither all the changing thoughts For what there may be worthy in these rhymes Of man; though no great minist'ring reason sorts I partly owe to him: and thus, the chimes Out the dark mysteries of human souls

Of friendly voices had just given place To clear conceiving : yet there ever rolls

To as sweet a silence, when I'gan retrace A vast idea before me, and I glean

The pleasant day, upon a couch at ease. Thorefrom my liberty; thence too I've seen It was a poet's house who keeps the keys


of pleasure's temple.-Round about were hung E'en now, dear George, while this for you I write,

I The glorious features of the bards who sung

Cynthia is from her silken curtains peeping In other ages-cold and sacred busts

So scantly, that it seems her bridal night,
Smiled at each other. Happy he who trusts And she her half-discover'd revels keeping.
To clear Futurity his darling fame !

But what, without the social thought of thee,
Then there were fauns and satyrs taking aim Would be the wonders of the sky and sea ?
At swelling apples with a frisky leap,
And reaching fingers 'mid a luscious heap
Of vine-leaves. Then there rose to view a fane
Of liney marble, and thereto a train
or nymphs approaching fairly o'er the sward : Had I a man's fair form, then might my sighs
One, loveliest, holding her white hand toward Be echoed swiftly through that ivory shell
The dazzling sunrise : two sisters sweet

Thine ear, and find thy gentle heart; so well
Bending their graceful figures till they meet Would passion arm me for the enterprise :
Over the trippings of a little child :

But ah! I am no knight whose foeman dies ; And some are hearing, eagerly, the wild

No cuirass glistens on my bosom's swell; Thrilling liquidity of dewy piping.

I am no happy shepherd of the dell See, in another picture, nymphs are wiping Whose lips have trembled with a maiden's eyes. Cherishingly Diana's timorous limbs ;

Yet must I dote upon thee,-call thee sweet, A fold of lawny mantle dabbling swims

Sweeter by far than Hybla's honey'd roses At the bath's edge, and keeps a gentle notion When steep'd in dew rich to intoxication. With the subsiding crystal : as when ocean

Ah! I will taste that dew, for me 't is meet, Heaves calmly its broad swelling smoothness o'er And when the moon her pallid face discloses, Its rocky marge, and balances once more

I'll gather some by spells, and incantation.
The patient weeds; that now unshent by foam,
Fcel all about their undulating home.
Sappho's meek head was there half smiling down

WRITTEN ON THE DAY THAT MR. LEIGH HUNT LEFT At nothing ; just as though the earnest frown

Of over-thinking had that moment gone
From off her brow, and left her all alone.

What though, for showing truth to flatter'd state,

Kind Hunt was shut in prison, yet has he

In his immortal spirit, been as free Great Alfred's too, with anxious, pitying eyes,

As the sky-searching lark, and as elate. As if he always listen'd to the sighs

Minion of grandeur! think you he did wait? of the goaded world; and Kosciusko's, worn

Think you he naught but prison-walls did see, By horrid sufferance-mightily forlorn.

Till, so unwilling, thou unturn'dst the key?

Ah, no! far happier, nobler was his fate! Petrarch, out-stepping from the shady green, In Spenser's halls he stray'd, and bowers fair, Starts at the sight of Laura; nor can wean

Culling enchanted flowers; and he flew His eyes from her sweet face. Most happy they! With daring Milton through the fields of air : For over them was seen a free display

To regions of his own, his genius true Of outspread wings, and from between them shone Took happy flights. Who shall his fame impair The face of Poesy: from off her throne

When thou art dead, and all thy wretched crew? She overlook'd things that I scarce could tell, The very sense of where I was might well Keep Sleep aloof: but more than that there came Thought after thought to nourish up the flame

How many bards gild the lapses of time! Within my breast; so that the morning light

A few of them have ever been the food Surprised me even from a sleepless night;

Of my delighted fancy.—I could brood And up I rose refresh'd, and glad, and gay,

Over their beauties, earthly, or sublime : Resolving to begin that very day

And often, when I sit me down to rhyme, These lines ; and howsoever they be done,

These will in throngs before my mind intrude: I leave them as a father does his son.

But no confusion, no disturbance rude
Do they occasion ; 't is a pleasing chime.
So the unnumber'd sounds that evening store ;

The songs of birds—the whisp'ring of the leaves

The voice of waters—the great bell that heaves SONNETS.

With solemn sound, and thousand others more,

That distance of recognizance bereaves,

Make pleasing music, and not wild uproar.
MANY the wonders I this day have seen :

The sun, when first he kist away the tears

That fill'd the eyes of Morn;—the laureli'd peers Who from the feathery gold of evening lean ;

TO A FRIEND WHO SENT ME SOME ROSES. The Ocean with its vastness, its blue green, As late I rambled in the happy fields,

Its ships, its rocks, its caves, its hopes, its fears, What time the skylark shakes the tremulous dew Its voice mysterious, which whoso hears

From his lush clover covert :when anew Must think on what will be, and what has been. Adventurous knights take up their dinted shields :

I saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields, KEEN fitful gusts are whispering here and there

A fresh-blown musk-rose; 't was the first that threw Among the bushes, half leafless and dry;

Its sweets upon the summer: graceful it grew The stars look very cold about the sky, As is the wand that queen Titania wields.

And I have many miles on foot to fare. And, as I feasted on its fragrancy,

Yet feel I little of the cool bleak air, I thought the garden-rose it far excell'd;

Or of the dead leaves rustling drearily, But when, O Wells! thy roses came to me,

Or of those silver lamps that buru on high, My sense with their deliciousness was spellid : Or of the distance from home's pleasant lair: Soft voices had they, that with tender plea For I am brimful of the friendliness Whisper'd of peace, and truth, and friendliness That in a little cottage I have found; unquell'a.

of fair-hair'd Milton's eloquent distress,

And all his love for gentle Lycid' drown'd; of lovely Laura in her light-green dress,

And faithful Petrarch gloriously crown'd.

TO G. A. W.

Nymph of the downward smile, and sidelong glance!
In what diviner moments of the day

To one who has been long in city pent,
Art thou most lovely? when gone far astray

'Tis very sweet to look into the fair Into the labyrinths of sweet utterance ?

And open face of heaven,—to breathe a prayer Or when serenely wand'ring in a trance

Full in the smile of the blue firmament. Of sober thought? Or when starting away,

Who is more happy, when, with heart's content, With careless robe to meet the morning ray,

Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair Thou sparest the flowers in thy mazy dance ?

Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair Haply 't is when thy ruby lips part sweetly,

And gentle tale of love and languishment? And so remain, because thou listenest :

Returning home at evening, with an ear But thou to please wert nurtured so completely

Catching the notes of Philomel,-an eye That I can never tell what mood is best.

Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career, I shall as soon pronounce which Grace more neatly

He mourns that day so soon has glided by: Trips it before Apollo than the rest.

E'en like the passage of an angel's tear

That falls through the clear ether silently.


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O SOLITUDE! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap

Of murky buildings : climb with me the steep.- Much have I travell’d in the realms of gold,
Nature's observatory—whence the dell,
Its flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell,

And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; May seem a span ; let me thy vigils keep

Round many western islands have I been 'Mongst boughs pavilion'd, where the deer's swift Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. leap,

Oft of one wide expanse had I been told Startles the wild bee from the fox-glove bell.

That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne: But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee,

Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,

Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Whose words are images of thoughts refined,

Then felt I like some watcher of the skies Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be

When a new planet swims into his ken; Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,

Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.

He stared at the Pacific—and all his men
Look'd at each other with a wild surmise

Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

Small, busy flames play through the fresh-laid coals,

ON LEAVING SOME FRIENDS AT AN EARLY HOUR And their faint cracklings o'er our silence creep Give me a golden pen, and let me lean

Like whispers of the household gods that keep On heap'd-up flowers, in regions clear, and far, A gentle empire o'er fraternal souls.

Bring me a tablet whiter than a star, And while, for rhymes, I search around the poles,

Or hand of hymning angel, when 't is seen Your eyes are fix’d, as in poetic sleep,

The silver strings of heavenly harp atween : Upon the lore so voluble and deep,

And let there glide by many a pearly car, That aye at fall of night our care condoles.

Pink robes, and wavy hair, and diamond jar, This is your birth-day, Tom, and I rejoice

And half-discover's wings, and glances keen. That thus it passes smoothly, quietly,

The while let music wander round my ears, Many such eves of gently whisp’ring noise

And as it reaches each delicious ending, May we together pass, and calmly try

Let me write down a line of glorious tone, What are this world's true joys,—ere the great Voice, and full of many wonders of the spheres : From its fair face shall bid our spirits fly.

For what a height my spirit is contending! November 18, 1816.

'Tis not content so soon to be alone.

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