Pensive they sit, and roll their languid eyes, Read me a lesson, Muse, and speak it loud . PAGE 437 343 See lii 333 St. Agnes' Eve-Ah, bitter chill it was! Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Shed no tear-O shed no tear! So, I am safe emerged from these broils! Son of the old moon-mountains African! Souls of Poets dead and gone, 212 245 311 Small, busy flames play through the fresh laid coals, 37 365 305 242 Spenser! a jealous honourer of thine, Still very sick my Lord; but now I went Sweet are the pleasures that to verse belong, The church bells toll a melancholy round, The town, the churchyard, and the setting sun, 319 There are who lord it o'er their fellow-men 112 There is a charm in footing slow across a silent plain, Though you should build a bark of dead men's bones, [foot-note] 247 Thus in alternate uproar and sad peace, Time's sea hath been five years at its slow ebb, 274 306 To see those eyes I prize above mine own Upon a Sabbath-day it fell;. 336 38 See lv 353 Unfelt, unheard, unseen, Upon a time, before the faery broods Was ever such a night? Welcome joy, and welcome sorrow, Well, well, I know what ugly jeopardy What can I do to drive away What is more gentle than a wind in summer? What sylph-like form before my eyes, What though, for showing truth to flatter'd state, What though while the wonders of nature exploring,. When by my solitary hearth I sit, When I have fears that I may cease to be When they were come into the Faery's Court When wedding fiddles are a-playing, Where be ye going, you Devon Maid ? Where is my noble herald ?. Where's the Poet? show him! show him, Where! where! where shall I find a messenger Who loves to peer up at the morning sun, You have my secret; let it not be breath'd. THE END. 35 . |