Ode XV: To The Evening-Star (Mark Akenside Poems)
I.To-night retir'd the queen of heavenWith young Endymion stays:And now to Hesper is it givenAwhile to rule the vacant sky,Till ...
I.To-night retir'd the queen of heavenWith young Endymion stays:And now to Hesper is it givenAwhile to rule the vacant sky,Till ...
To-night retired, the queen of heaven With young Endymion stays;And now to Hesper it is givenAwhile to rule the vacant sky,Till ...
To-night retired, the queen of heavenWith young Endymion stays;And now to Hesper it is givenAwhile to rule the vacant sky,Till ...
When hawthorns are blooming and hedges are gay,And the lark soars aloft as he heralds the day,I love to be ...
every springas the hawthorns blossomalong the rivermy grandfathersmiling hands mea flute he has just carvedfrom willow woodhe's been dead a ...
Bonny little Blue-bells Mid young brackens green,'Neath the hedgerows peeping Modestly between;Telling us that Summer Is not far away,When your beauties blend with Blossoms ...
I remember, sae surely, sae surely,A certain eve in the greying season,When the hawthorns stood bare, their branchesShaking in their ...
If England, her spirit lives anywhereIt is by Severn, by hawthorns and grand willows.Earth heaves up twice a hundred feet ...
What would'st thou have for easement after grief, When the rude world hath used thee with despite, And care sits at thine elbow day and night, Filching thy pleasures like a subtle thief? To me, when life besets me in such wise, 'Tis sweetest to break forth, to drop the chain, And grasp the freedom of this pleasant earth, To roam in idleness and sober mirth, Through summer airs and summer lands, and drain The comfort of wide fields unto tired eyes. By hills and waters, farms and solitudes, To wander by the day with wilful feet; Through fielded valleys wide with yellowing wheat; Along gray roads that run between deep woods, Murmurous and cool; through hallowed slopes of pine, Where the long daylight dreams, unpierced, unstirred, And only the rich-throated thrush is heard; By lonely forest brooks that froth and shine In bouldered crannies buried in the hills; By broken beeches tangled with wild vine, And long-strewn rivers murmurous with mills. In upland pastures, sown with gold, and sweet With the keen perfume of the ripening grass, Where wings of birds and filmy shadows pass, Spread thick as stars with shining marguerite: To haunt old fences overgrown with brier, Muffled in vines, and hawthorns, and wild cherries, Rank poisonous ivies, red-bunched elder-berries, And pièd blossoms to the heart's desire, Gray mullein towering into yellow bloom, Pink-tasseled milkweed, breathing dense perfume, And swarthy vervain, tipped with violet fire. To hear at eve the bleating of far flocks, The mud-hen's whistle from the marsh at morn; To skirt with deafened ears and brain o'erborne Some foam-filled rapid charging down its rocks With iron roar of waters; far away Across wide-reeded meres, pensive with noon, To hear the querulous outcry of the loon; To lie among deep rocks, and watch all day On liquid heights the snowy clouds melt by; Or hear from wood-capped mountain-brows the jay Pierce the bright morning with his jibing cry. To feast on summer sounds; the jolted wains, The thresher humming from the farm near by, The prattling cricket's intermittent cry, The locust's rattle from the sultry lanes; Or in the shadow of some oaken spray, To watch, as through a mist of light and dreams, The far-off hayfields, where the dusty teams Drive round and round the lessening squares of hay, And hear upon the wind, now loud, now low, With drowsy cadence half a summer's day, The clatter of the reapers come and go. Far violet hills, horizons filmed with showers, The murmur of cool streams, the forest's gloom, The voices of the breathing grass, the hum Of ancient gardens overbanked with flowers: Thus, with a smile as golden as the dawn, And cool fair fingers radiantly divine, The mighty mother brings us in her hand, For all tired eyes and foreheads pinched and wan, Her restful cup, her beaker of bright wine: Drink, and be filled, and ye shall understand!(Archibald Lampman)
How will it dawn, the coming Christmas Day?A northern Christmas, such as painters love,And kinsfolk, shaking hands but once a ...
FROM frozen climes, and endless tracts of snow, From streams which northern winds forbid to flow, What present shall the ...
BROAD level fields, and hedges thick with trees, A calm still evening dropping fitful rain, And hawthorns loaded with their ...
November days in Ireland The skies are dull and grey,But Oh! The clear strong flame of love, That burns by ...
Row, Kello, row frae rocky linns, An' through amang thy grassy braes,Where gowans grow an' hawthorns blaw, An' sunshine sleeps ...
MRS. CARTER speaks:We came oot here in '87, A lang, lang way ower sea;A renky chap wur my Bill an* ...
BEFORE I left I planted twentyRuby hawthorns, they'd be plentyI thought, for Laverton is notLarge tho' a very bonny spot.Twenty ...
We hurry on, nor passing noteThe rounded hedges white with May;For golden clouds before us floatTo lead our dazzled sight ...
Little cramped words scrawling all over the paperLike draggled fly's legs,What can you tell of the flaring moonThrough the ...
I saw my world again through your eyes As I would see it again through your children's eyes. Through your ...
THE THAMES flows proudly to the sea, Where royal cities stately stand; But sweeter flows the Nith to me, Where ...
HAIL, Poesie! thou Nymph reserv'd! In chase o' thee, what crowds hae swerv'd Frae common sense, or sunk enerv'd 'Mang ...
© 2020 Inspirational Stories