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Part i. xiv.
Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart.
So didst thou travel on life's common way,
Part i. xvi.
We must be free or die, who speak the tongue
One of those heavenly days that cannot die.
She was a Phantom of Delight.
But all things else about her drawn
A Creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food;
A perfect woman, nobly planned,
To the Daisy.
We meet thee, like a pleasant thought,
* Journeying on life's common way
In cheerful godliness. Hurdis, (SIR T. MORE).
The Poet's Darling.
Thou unassuming commonplace of Nature.
I Wandered Lonely.
That inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude.
A Youth to whom was giver So much of earth, so much of heaven.
Resolution and Independence.
Part i. St. 7.
I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous Boy, The sleepless soul that perished in his pride; Of him who walked in glory and in joy, Following his plough, along the mountain-side.
Hart-Leap Well. Part ii.
"A jolly place," said he, " in times of old! But something ails it now: the spot is cursed."
Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.
Never to blend our pleasure or our pride,
Knowing that Nature never did betray
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart.
That best portion of a good man's life,
That blessed mood,
In which the burden of the mystery,
The fretful stir
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world,
The sounding cataract
Haunted me like a passion; the tall rock,
That had no need of a remoter charm
But hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity.
Nor greetings where no kindness is.
Poems of the Imagination.
Like- but oh! how different.
Type of the wise who soar, but never roam; True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home.
Show us how divine a thing
A Woman may be made.
But an old age serene and bright
Prologue. St. 1.
There's something in a flying horse,
Part i. St. 15.
The soft blue sky did never melt
The witchery of the soft blue sky!
Part i. St. 26.
As if the man had fixed his face,
Against the wind and open sky!
Part i. xxx.
The holy time is quiet as a Nun
Breathless with adoration.
Part i. xxxiii.
The world is too much with us; late and soon Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers.
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;
Part i. xxxv.
'Tis hers to pluck the amaranthine flower