Wordsworth (Charles Harpur Poems)
LOFTY and strenuous of sentimentBut narrow and partial in its scope and bent,And thence the bigot of a local setOf ...
LOFTY and strenuous of sentimentBut narrow and partial in its scope and bent,And thence the bigot of a local setOf ...
Along the path that skirts the wood, The three musicians wend their way,Pleased with their ...
Under what spell are we debasedBy fears for our inviolate Isle,Whose record is of dangers facedAnd flung to heel with ...
SWEET pillow! on whose down the loveliest fair That e'er in slumber clos'd her radiant eyes,Reclines, her wasted spirits ...
HOW soft are the day dreams, how sweet are the slumbers Of him who reclines on the lap of ...
I knew a poor remittance man, A decent chap, but funny,In days when my ideas began To be controlled ...
SHOULD the lone wanderer, fainting on his way,Rest for a moment of the sultry hours,And though his path through thorns ...
Lo! in the painted oriel of the West, Whose panes the sunken sun incarnadines, Like a fair lady at her ...
I prefer the gorgeous freedom, And I fly to lands of grace, Where in wide and clear meadows All is ...
"Had we never loved so kindly, Had we never loved so blindly, Never met or never parted, We had ne'er ...
"Had we never loved so kindly, Had we never loved so blindly, Never met or never parted, We had ne'er ...
That civilisation may not sink, Its great battle lost, Quiet the dog, tether the pony To a distant post; Our ...
Scene, on the Cliffs to the Eastward of the Town of Brighthelmstone in Sussex. Time, a Morning in November, 1792. ...
WHERE o'er my head, the deaf'ning Tempest blew, And Night's cold lamp cast forth a feeble ray; Where o'er the ...
So bends beneath the storm yon balmy flow'r, Whose spicy blossoms once perfum'd the gale; So press'd with tears reclines ...
Weary and listless, sad and slow, Without any conversation, Was a man that worked on The Overflow, The butt of ...
I love Master Meng. Free as a flowing breeze, He is famous Throughout the world. In rosy youth, he cast ...
Dear Chloe, how blubbered is that pretty face; Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hair all uncurled! Prithee quit ...
To Jena Woodhouse This way of minutes miserably mixed With their own blinks misunderstood By birds and trees, this eye-born ...
I As the blind Milton's memory of light, The deaf Beethoven's phantasy of tone, Wroght joys for them surpassing all ...
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