‘The child is father to the man.’ How can he be? The words are wild… Suck any sense from that who can: ‘The child is father to the man. No; what the poet did write ran,
The times are nightfall, look, the… The times are winter, watch, a wor… They waste, they wither worse; the… Or bring more or more blazon man’s… And I not help. Nor word now of s…
Towery city and branchy between to… Cuckoo—echoing, bell—swarmèd, lark… The dapple—eared lily below thee;… Once encounter in, here coped & po… Thou hast a base and brickish skir…
Cloud—puffball, torn tufts, tossed… Built thoroughfare: heaven—royster… Down roughcast, down dazzling whit… Shivelights and shadowtackle ín lo… Delightfully the bright wind boist…
Not of all my eyes see, wandering… Is anything a milk to the mind so,… Poetry to it, as a tree whose boug… Say it is ashboughs: whether on a… Fast ór they in clammyish lashtend…
Márgarét, áre you gríeving Over Goldengrove unleaving? Leáves like the things of man, you With your fresh thoughts care for,… Ah! ás the heart grows older
To what serves mortal beauty ‘ —da… ing blood—the O—seal—that—so ’ fea… Than Purcell tune lets tread to?… Men’s wits to the things that are;… Master more may than gaze, ’ gaze…
I bear a basket lined with grass; I am so light, I am so fair, That men must wonder as I pass And at the basket that I bear, Where in a newly—drawn green litte…
Hark, hearer, hear what I do; len… We are leafwhelmed somewhere with… Of some branchy bunchy bushybowere… Southern dene or Lancashire cloug… That leans along the loins of hill…
A buglar boy from barrack (it is o… There)—boy bugler, born, he tells… Mother to an English sire (he Shares their best gifts surely, fa… This very very day came down to us…
Look at the stars! look, look up a… O look at all the fire—folk sittin… The bright boroughs, the circle—ci… Down in dim woods the diamond delv… The grey lawns cold where gold, wh…
As kingfishers catch fire, dragonf… As tumbled over rim in roundy well… Stones ring; like each tucked stri… Bow swung finds tongue to fling ou… Each mortal thing does one thing a…
Honour is flashed off exploit, so… And those strokes once that gashed… Should tongue that time now, trump… And, on the fighter, forge his glo… On Christ they do and on the mart…
Glory be to God for dappled thing… For skies of couple—colour as a br… For rose—moles all in stipple upon… Fresh—firecoal chestnut—falls; fin… Landscape plotted and pieced– fold…
To him who ever thought with love… Or ever did for my sake some good… I will appear, looking such charit… And kind compassion, at his life’s… That he will out of hand and heart…