Brothers and sisters I have many: Though I know there is not any Of them but I love, yet I Will just name them all; and try If there be one a little more

My neat and pretty book, when I t… They seem for any use to be unfit… My writing, all misshaped, uneven… Within this narrow space can hardl… Yet I will strive to make my hand…

I saw where in the shroud did lurk A curious frame of Nature’s work. A flow’ret crushed in the bud, A nameless piece of Babyhood, Was in a cradle—coffin lying;

David and his three captains bold Kept ambush once within a hold. It was in Adullam’s cave, Nigh which no water they could hav… Nor spring nor running brook was n…

Not a woman, child, or man in All this isle, that loves thee, C… Fools, whom gentle manners sway, May incline to C—gh, Princes, who old ladies love,

Shut these odious books up, brothe… They have made you quite another Thing from what you used to be: Once you liked to play with me, Now you leave me all alone,

Mystery of God! thou brave & beau… Made fair with light, & shade, & s… Made fearful and august with woods… Jagg’d precipice, black mountain,… Sun, over all—that no co—rival own…

This picture does the story expres… Of Moses in the bulrushes. How livelily the painter’s hand By colours makes us understand! Moses that little infant is.

Smiling river, smiling river, On thy bosom sun—beams play; Though they’re fleeting, and retre… Thou hast more deceit than they. In thy channel, in thy channel,

A bird appears a thoughtless thing… He’s ever living on the wing, And keeps up such a carolling, That little else to do but sing A man would guess had he.

'Why so I will, you noisy bird, This very day I’ll advertise you, Perhaps some busy ones may prize y… A fine—tongued parrot as was ever… I’ll word it thus—set forth all ch…

What’s Life still changing ev’ry… Tis all the seasons in a Day! The Smile, the Tear, the Sun, th… Tis now December, now tis May At morn we hail some envied Queen…

Margaret, in happy hour, Christen’d from that humble flower Which we a daisy call! May thy pretty name—sake be In all things a type of thee,

Alone, obscure, without a friend, A cheerless, solitary thing, Why seeks, my Lloyd, the stranger… What offering can the stranger bri… Of social scenes, home—bred deligh…

Hold on thy course uncheck’d, hero… Regardless what the player’s son m… Saint Stephens’ fool, the Zany of… Who nothing generous ever understo… London’s twice Prætor! scorn the…