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battle beauty beneath blow born breath bright busy charm cheerful child CHURCH-YARD clouds cold COUNTRY dark dead death deep died earth ELEGY WRITTEN eyes face fair fall fame feel field fire flowers grace grave green hand hast head hear heard heart heaven hills hope hour Italy laid land leaves light live look Lord loud Mary meet mind moon morn mother mountain Nature ne'er never night o'er o’er pass poems poet poor praise pride rage rest rise rose round seen short side sigh silent sing sleep smile soft song soul sound spirit star stormy sweet tears thee things thou thou art thought thousand Till true village voice waves wild winds woods young youth
Seite 55 - Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not : Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower...
Seite 139 - 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'er-brimmed their clammy cells — Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Seite 14 - 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.
Seite 158 - As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I, And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry. Till a" the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi
Seite 27 - 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.
Seite 115 - 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...
Seite 140 - WHEN I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest He returning chide; 'Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?' I fondly ask: but Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies, 'God doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his state Is kingly: thousands...
Seite 22 - She had a rustic, woodlai.d air, And she was wildly clad; Her eyes were fair, and very fair; — Her beauty made me glad. " Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be? " " How many? Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me.
Seite 122 - WHAT needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones The labour of an age in piled stones ? Or that his hallowed reliques should be hid Under a star-ypointing pyramid ? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name ? Thou in our wonder and astonishment Hast built thyself a livelong monument.
Seite 56 - Yet if we could scorn Hate, and pride, and fear; If we were things born Not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground ! Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow, The world should listen then, as I am listening now.