British Georgics. January (James Grahame Poems)
The labours of the plough, the various toilsThat, still returning with the changeful year,Demand the husbandman's and cottar's care;The joys ...
The labours of the plough, the various toilsThat, still returning with the changeful year,Demand the husbandman's and cottar's care;The joys ...
Beneath the fervour of the noon-tide beamAll Nature's works in placid stillness pause,--Save man, and his joint labourer the horse,The ...
Fair shines the sun, but with a meekened smileRegretful, on the variegated woodsAnd glittering streams, where floats the hazel spray,The ...
Loud raves the blast, and, smell, the sleety showersDrive over hill and dale with hurrying sweep.The leafless boughs all to ...
Clear is the sky, and temperate the air,That, scarcely stirring, wafts, with gentlest breath,The gossamer light glittering in the sun.And ...
Intense the viewless flood of heat descendsOn hill, and dale, and wood, and tangled brake,Where, to the chirping grasshopper, the ...
While wind and rain drive through the half-stripped trees,Fanners and flails go merrily in the barn.Each brook and river sweeps ...
Sweet month! thy locks with bursting buds begemmed,With opening hyacinths and hawthorn flowers,Fair still thou art, though showers bedim thine ...
Raised by the coming plough, the merry larkUpsprings, and, soaring, joins the high-poised choirsThat carol far and near, in spiral ...
Through boughs still leafless, or through foliage thin,The sloping primrose-bed lies fair exposed,Begemmed with simple flowers, gladdening the sight.Hail! month ...
Hark! the whetstone raspsAlong the mower's scythe; for now's the timeTo reap the grassy mead,—-ere yet the beeInto the purple ...
Delightful is this loneliness; it calmsMy heart: pleasant the cool beneath these elms,That throw across the stream a moveless shade.Here ...
Six days the heavenly host, in circle vast,Like that untouching cincture which enzonesThe globe of Saturn, compass'd wide this orb,And ...
When homeward bands their several ways disperse,I love to linger in the narrow fieldOf rest, to wander round from tomb ...
How calm that little lake! no breath of windSighs through the reeds; a clear abyss it seems,Held in the concave ...
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