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Like - but oh ! how different.

Poems of the Imagination. xxix. Type of the wise who soar, but never roam ; True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home.

To a Skylark. xxx. Show us how divine a thing A Woman may be made.

To a Young Lady. xxxvi.

But an old age serene and bright,
And lovely as a Lapland night,
Shall lead thee to thy grave.


There's something in a flying horse,
There's something in a huge balloon.

Peter Bell. Prologue. Stanza 1.
The common growth of Mother Earth
Suffices me,- her tears, her mirth,
Her humblest mirth and tears.


Stanza 27.

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The holy time is quiet as a Nun
Breathless with adoration.

Miscellaneous Sonnets.

Part i. xxy.

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The world is too much with us; late and soon
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers.

Miscellaneous Sonnets. Part i. xxxiii.

Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn ;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn ;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea,
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.


'Tis hers to pluck the amaranthine flower
Of Faith, and round the Sufferer's temples bind
Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower,
And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind.

Part i. xxxv.

Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep :
The river glideth at his own sweet will ;
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep ;
And all that mighty heart is lying still !

Part ii. xxxvi.

The feather, whence the pen Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men, Dropped from an Angel's wing. *

Ecclesiastical Sonnets. Part iii. Walton's Lives.

Meek Walton's heavenly memory.


* The pen wherewith thou dost so heavenly sing
Made of a quill from an angel's wing.


Whose noble praise
Deserves a quill pluckt from an angel's wing.


Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books,
Or surely you


double :
Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks ;
Why all this toil and trouble?

The Tables Turnet.

One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can.


A remnant of uneasy light.

The Matron of Fedborough.

Meek Nature's evening comment on the shows,
That for oblivion take their daily birth
From all the fuming vanities of Earth.

Sky Prospect. From the Plains of France.
One that would peep and botanize
Upon his mother's grave. A Poet's Epitaph. Starta 5.

He murmurs near the running brooks
A music sweeter than their own.

Ibid. Stanza 10.

The harvest of a quiet eye,
That broods and sleeps on his own heart.


Stansa 13.

Maidens withering on the stalk. Personal Talk. Stansa i.

Dreams, books, are each a world ; and books we know,
Are a substantial world, both pure and good ;
Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood,
Our pastime and our happiness will grow.

Ibid. Stanza 3.

The gentle Lady married to the Moor,
And heavenly Una with her milk-white Lamb.

Personal Talk. Stanza 3.
Blessings be with them, and eternal praise,
Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares,
The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs
Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays !

Ibid. Stansa 4.

To be a Prodigal's Favourite,—then, worse truth,
A Miser's Pensioner,-behold our lot!

The Small Celandine. From Poems referring to Old Age.

Often have I sighed to measure
By myself a lonely pleasure,
Sighed to think I read a book,
Only read, perhaps, by me.

To the Small Celandine. From Poems of the Fancy.

The light that never was, on sea or land,
The consecration and the Poet's dream.
Elegiac Stanzas suggested by a Picture of P'eele Castle

in a Storm. Stanza 4. But hushed be every thought that springs From out the bitterness of things.

Epitaphs and Elegiac Pieces. xiii. Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting.

Intimations of Immortality. Stanza 5. But trailing clouds of glory, do we come

From God, who is our home : Heaven lies about us in our infancy!


To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. Stanza 11.


The vision and the faculty divine.

Book i.

The imperfect offices of prayer and praise.


The good die first,
And they whose hearts are dry as summer dust
Burn to the socket.


This dull product of a scoffer's pen.

Book ii.

With battlements, that on their restless fronts
Bore stars.


Wrongs unredressed, or insults unavenged.

Book üi.

Monastic brotherhood, upon rock aërial.


The intellectual power through words and things
Went sounding on, a dim and perilous way!*


Society became my glittering bride,
And airy hopes my children.



There is a luxury in self-dispraise ;
And inward self-disparagement affords
To meditative spleen a grateful feast.

Book iv.

* Three sleepless nights I passed in sounding on,
Through words and things, a dim and perilous way.

The Borderers. dct iv.

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