From his brimstone bed at break of… A walking the DEVIL is gone, To visit his little snug farm of t… And see how his stock went on. Over the hill and over the dale,
Though friendships differ endless… The sorts, methinks, may be reduce… Ac quaintance many, and Con quain… But for In quaintance I know only… The friend I’ve mourned with, and…
Hast thou a charm to stay the morn… In his steep course? So long he s… On thy bald awful head, O sovran… The Arve and Arveiron at thy base Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most a…
Where is the grave of Sir Arthur… Where may the grave of that good m… By the side of a spring, on the br… Under the twigs of a young birch t… The oak that in summer was sweet t…
Ere on my bed my limbs I lay, God grant me grace my prayers to s… O God! preserve my mother dear In strength and health for many a… And, O! preserve my father too,
Edmund! thy grave with aching eye… And inly groan for heaven’s poor o… 'Tis tempest all or gloom: in earl… If gifted with the Ithuriel lance… We force to start amid her feigned…
Dim hour! that sleep’st on pillowi… O rise and yoke the turtles to thy… Bend o’er the traces, blame each l… And give me to the bosom of my lov… My gentle love, caressing and care…
To the River Otter Dear native Brook! wild Streamlet… How many various-fated years have… What happy and what mournful hours… I skimm’d the smooth thin stone al…
... Finally, what is Reason? You… answer:— Whene’er the mist, that stands 'tw… [Sublimates] to a pure transparenc… That intercepts no light and adds…
[exerpt] Of late, in one of those most wear… When life seems emptied of all gen… A dready mood, which he who ne’er… May bless his happy lot, I sate a…
The shepherds went their hasty way… And found the lowly stable-shed Where the Virgin-Mother lay: And now they checked their eager t… For to the Babe, that at her boso…
Near the lone pile with ivy oversp… Fast by the rivulet’s sleep-persua… Where 'sleeps the moonlight’ on yo… O humbly press that consecrated gr… For there does Edmund rest, the l…
My eyes make pictures when they’re… I see a fountain large and fair, A Willow and a ruined Hut, And thee, and me, and Mary there. O Mary! make thy gentle lap our p…
A Conversation Poem, April, 1798 No cloud, no relique of the sunken… Distinguishes the West, no long t… Of sullen light, no obscure trembl… Come, we will rest on this old mos…
With many a pause and oft reverted… I climb the Coomb’s ascent: sweet… Warble in shade their wild-wood me… Far off the unvarying Cuckoo soot… Up scour the startling stragglers…
