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Amaryllis Anon art thou Autumn beauty beneath bird Birket Foster bloom blossoms boughs bowers breath breeze bright buds Charlotte Smith cheer Clare clouds comes but once cottage crown'd dancing dark deep delight dewy doth Duke of Orleans earth Edward Duncan fair flocks flowers gale gentle glowing green grove Hail happy Harral Harrison Weir Harvest harvest-home hath heart heaven hills horn hues hunt ladies gay light lonely loud melody merrily merry mirth morn mountain murmuring neath Night NIGHT SONG nightingale o'er Old Christmas comes purple Richard Ansdell rill round scene shade shepherd shining silent silent hills silver beech sing sleep smiles snow soft song SONNET sound spread spring stream summer sunny sweet swell thee thou thrush toil trees vale village voice Walter Goodall wassail waves weary wild wind wind-flowers wings winter WINTER SONG woodland woods yellow yonder
Page 27 - The turtle to her make hath told her tale. Summer is come, for every spray now springs. The hart hath hung his old head on the pale ; The buck in brake his winter coat he flings ; The fishes fleet with new repaired scale.
Page 142 - When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit; Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
Page 62 - They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed— and gazed— but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure...
Page 37 - SWEET bird ! that sing'st away the early hours Of winters past, or coming, void of care. Well pleased with delights which present are, Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling flowers : To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bowers, Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare, And what dear gifts on thee He did not spare, A stain to human sense in sin that lowers. What soul can be so sick which by thy songs...
Page 108 - Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun ; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run ; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel...
Page 61 - Methought that of these visionary flowers I made a nosegay, bound in such a way That the same hues, which in their natural bowers Were mingled or opposed, the like array Kept these imprisoned children of the Hours Within my hand, — and then, elate and gay, I hastened to the spot whence I had come, That I might there present it!
Page 73 - Hovering o'er the wanton face Of these pastures, where they come, Striking dead both bud and bloom : Therefore, from such danger lock Every one his loved flock; And let your dogs lie loose without, Lest the wolf come as a scout From the mountain, and, ere day, Bear a lamb or kid away; Or the crafty thievish fox Break upon your simple flocks. To secure...
Page 34 - Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise: Arise, arise.
Page 61 - Thou mightest in dream. There grew pied wind-flowers and violets, Daisies, those pearled Arcturi of the earth, The constellated flower that never sets ; Faint oxlips ; tender blue-bells, at whose birth The sod scarce heaved ; and that tall flower that wets Its mother's face with heaven-collected tears, When the low wind, its playmate's voice, it hears.
Page 96 - Stand, never overlooked, our favourite elms That screen the herdsman's solitary hut ; While far beyond and overthwart the stream That as with molten glass inlays the vale, The sloping land recedes into the clouds ; Displaying on its varied side the grace Of hedge-row beauties numberless, square tower, Tall spire, from which the sound of cheerful bells Just undulates upon the listening ear ; Groves, heaths, and smoking villages remote.