Adam Bruce Andrew Jones babe beautiful beneath Betty Betty Foy Betty's birds black lips bower brother child church-yard cottage dead dear delight Derwent Water door Ennerdale eyes fair Father fear feelings gentle gone Goody Blake Grasmere grave green happy Harry Gill hath head hear heard heart Heaven hill hope Idiot boy JAMES HUMPHREYS Johnny Kilve Kirtle lamb land of mist LEONARD limbs liv'd live look look'd lov'd Maid Marinere Martha Ray Metre mind moon morning mountain Nature never night o'er oh misery pain Papiniane pass'd passion play'd pleasure Poems Poetry poney porringer PRIEST Reader rock round seem'd sheep Shepherd side silent SIMON LEE sits Skiddaw song soul sound stone stood sweet tale tears tell thee There's things Thorn thou thought thro trees turn'd Twas Twill vale voice wedding-guest wild wind woods youth
153 psl. - Is lightened : that serene and blessed mood, In which the affections gently lead us on. Until, the breath of this corporeal frame, And even the motion of our human blood, Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul : While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.
101 psl. - Nor shall she fail to see Even in the motions of the Storm Grace that shall mould the Maiden's form By silent sympathy. "The stars of midnight shall be dear To her ; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face.
154 psl. - That time is past, And all its aching joys are now no more, And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this *Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts Have followed; for such loss, I would believe, Abundant recompense.
152 psl. - Once again I see These hedgerows, hardly hedgerows, little lines Of sportive wood run wild ; these pastoral farms, Green to the very door ; and wreaths of smoke Sent up in silence from among the trees, With some uncertain notice, as might seem, Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods, Or of some hermit's cave, where by his fire The hermit sits alone.
92 psl. - It seemed a thrill of pleasure. The budding twigs spread out their fan, To catch the breezy air; And I must think, do all I can, That there was pleasure there.
154 psl. - The picture of the mind revives again : While here I stand, not only with the sense Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts That in this moment there is life and food For future years.
31 psl. - The Sun, right up above the mast, Had fixed her to the ocean: But in a minute she 'gan stir, With a short uneasy motion Backwards and forwards half her length With a short uneasy motion. Then, like a pawing horse let go, She made a sudden bound: It flung the blood into my head, And I fell down in a swound.
1 psl. - All thoughts, all passions, all delights, Whatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame. Oft in my waking dreams do I Live o'er again that happy hour, When midway on the mount I lay, Beside the ruined tower. The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, Had blended with the lights of eve; And she was there, my hope, my joy, My own dear Genevieve!
91 psl. - Lines Written in Early Spring I HEARD a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man.
90 psl. - My stockings there I often knit, My kerchief there I hem ; And there upon the ground I sit I sit and sing to them. And often after sun-set, Sir, When it is light and fair, I take my little porringer, And eat my supper there. The first that died was little Jane; In bed she moaning lay, Till God released her of her pain ; And then she went away.