He play’d his wings as tho’ for fl… They webb’d the sky with glassy li… His body sway’d upon tiptoes, Like a wind—perplexed rose; In eddies of the wind he went
A buglar boy from barrack (it is o… There)—boy bugler, born, he tells… Mother to an English sire (he Shares their best gifts surely, fa… This very very day came down to us…
Not of all my eyes see, wandering… Is anything a milk to the mind so,… Poetry to it, as a tree whose boug… Say it is ashboughs: whether on a… Fast ór they in clammyish lashtend…
Let me be to Thee as the circling… Or bat with tender and air—crispin… That shapes in half—light his depa… From both of whom a changeless not… I have found my music in a common…
Felix Randal the farrier, O is he… Who have watched his mould of man,… Pining, pining, till time when rea… Fatal four disorders, fleshed ther… Sickness broke him. Impatient, he…
Márgarét, áre you gríeving Over Goldengrove unleaving? Leáves like the things of man, you With your fresh thoughts care for,… Ah! ás the heart grows older
Summer ends now; now, barbarous in… Around; up above, what wind-walks!… Of silk-sack clouds! has wilder, w… Meal-drift moulded ever and melted… I walk, I lift up, I lift up hear…
TOWERY city and branchy between… Cuckoo—echoing, bell—swarmèd, lark… The dapple—eared lily below thee;… Once encounter in, here coped and… Thou hast a base and brickish skir…
What being in rank—old nature shou… That hére pérsonal tells off these… A bush—browed, beetle—brówed bíllo… With a soúth—wésterly wínd blúster… Of crumbling, fore—foundering, thu…
May is Mary’s month, and I Muse at that and wonder why: Her feasts follow reason, Dated due to season— Candlemas, Lady Day;
Beyond Mágdalen and by the Bridge… In Summer, in a burst of summerti… Following falls and falls of rain, When the air was sweet—and—sour of… Those goldnails and their gaylinks…
‘But tell me, child, your choice;… You?’—‘Father, what you buy me I… With the sweetest air that said, s… He swung to his first poised purpo… What the heart is! which, like car…
Thee, God, I come from, to thee g… All day long I like fountain flow From thy hand out, swayed about Mote—like in thy mighty glow. What I know of thee I bless,
The world is charged with the gran… It will flame out, like shining fr… It gathers to a greatness, like th… Crushed. Why do men then now not… Generations have trod, have trod,…
‘The child is father to the man.’ How can he be? The words are wild… Suck any sense from that who can: ‘The child is father to the man. No; what the poet did write ran,