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beauty behold Ben Jonson beneath bless blest bloom born breast breath bright busy bee Charles Lamb charm cheek child Christ's Hospital churchyard clouds cold dark dead death deep delight died dost doth Dublin magazine dwell e'en earth Edgar Allan Poe Elizabethan era Faerie Queene fair fame flowers gentle glory gone grace grave green grief hast hath heard heart heaven heigh Henry Kirke White Henry Wadsworth Longfellow hill Honour hour hues Lamb leaves light little maid live lonely look loud moon morn mother mother's love mournful ne'er never night numbers o'er old familiar faces poems poet poetry porringer pride round shadows rise sigh silent sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound star sweet tears thee thine Thomas Haynes Bayley thou art thou busy thought Twas village voice waves weary weep wild winds woods Wordsworth youth
Página 61 - What thou art we know not ; What is most like thee ? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see, As from thy presence showers a rain of melody.
Página 15 - In all my wanderings round this world of care, In all my griefs - and God has given my share I still had hopes my latest hours to crown, Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; To husband out life's taper at the close, And keep the flame from wasting by repose.
Página 29 - ON Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat, at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery.
Página 140 - Peace to all such ! but were there one whose fires True genius kindles, and fair fame inspires; Blest with each talent and each art to please, And born to write, converse, and live with ease; Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne...
Página 186 - And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel ; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease ; For Summer has o'erbrimm'd their clammy cells.
Página 62 - Like a glowworm golden In a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden Its aerial hue Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view: Like a rose embowered In its own green leaves, By warm winds deflowered, Till the scent it gives Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged thieves. Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, Rain-awakened flowers, All that ever was Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass.
Página 63 - What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain? What fields, or waves, or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain? What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be: Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee: Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.
Página 137 - Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, ' Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
Página 25 - Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be ? " "How many? Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me. " And where are they ? I pray you tell...
Página 16 - The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, The playful children just let loose from school ; The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind ; These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made.