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The charities, that soothe, and heal, and bless, Are scattered at the feet of Man, like flowers.

The Prelude.

Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive,
But to be young was very Heaven.



Lines to Lady A. Hamilton.

Too late I stayed,- forgive the crime;
Unheeded flew the hours.

How noiseless falls the foot of time,
That only treads on flowers!

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As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.

Water, water, everywhere,
Nor any drop to drink.

Part iv.

Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide, wide sea.

Part v.

A noise like of a hidden brook

In the leafy month of June.

Part vii.

He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things, both great and small.

A sadder and a wiser man,
He rose the morrow morn.

Christabel. Part ii.

Alas! they had been friends in youth;
But whispering tongues can poison truth;
And constancy lives in realms above;
And life is thorny; and youth is vain;
And to be wroth with one we love,
Doth work like madness in the brain.

Fears in Solitude.

Forth from his dark and lonely hiding-place,
(Portentous sight!) the owlet Atheism,

Sailing on obscene wings athwart the noon,
Drops his blue fringed lids, and holds them close,
And hooting at the glorious sun in Heaven,
Cries out, "Where is it?"

The Devil's Thoughts.

And the Devil did grin, for his darling sin,
Is pride that apes humility.


All thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,

All are but ministers of Love,

And feed his sacred flame,

Translated from Schiller



Strongly it bears us along in swelling and limitless billows,

Nothing before and nothing behind but the sky and

the ocean.



In the hexameter rises the fountain's silvery column; In the pentameter aye falling in melody back.

Reflections on having left a Place of Retirement.

Blest hour! it was a luxury

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to be!

Hymn in the Vale of Chamouni.

Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star
In his steep course?

Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines.

Motionless torrents! silent cataracts!

Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God.

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To know, to esteem, to love—and then to part, Makes up life's tale to many a feeling heart!

Epitaph on an Infant.

Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade,
Death came with friendly care;
The opening bud to Heaven conveyed,
And bade it blossom there.

Dejection. An Ode.

St. 5.

Joy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous cloud,
We in ourselves rejoice!

And thence flows all that charms, or ear or sight,

All melodies the echoes of that voice,

All colors a suffusion from that light.


Greatness and goodness are not means, but ends!
Hath he not always treasures, always friends,

The good great man? Three treasures, love and light,
And calm thoughts, regular as infants' breath;

And three firm friends, more sure than day and night, Himself, his maker, and the angel death.

A Christmas Carol.

Joy rises in me, like a summer's morn.


The river Rhine, it is well known,
Doth wash your city of Cologne;

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