Roars, howls, and stifled murmurs never cease;
Hell and its agonies seem hid below.
Thick rolls the mist, that smokes and falls in dew;
The trees and greenwood wear the deepest green.
Horrible mysteries in the gulph stare through,
Roars of a million tongues, and none knows what they mean.
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Old elm that murmured in our chimney top
And into mellow whispering calms would dropWhen showers fell on thy many coloured shadeAnd when dark tempests mimic thunder made –While darkness came as it would strangle lightWith the black tempest of a winter nightThat rocked thee like a cradle in thy root –How did I love to hear the winds upbraidThy strength without –…
Here morning in the ploughman’s songs is met
And twilight in the east, a doubt as yet,Shows not her sleeve of grey to know her bye.Woke early, I arose and thought that firstIn winter time of all the world was I.The old owls might have hallooed if they durst,But joy just then was up and whistled byeA merry tune which I had known…
Among the taller wood with ivy hung,
She snuffs and barks if any passes byAnd swings her tail and turns prepared to fly.The horseman hurries by, she bolts to see,And turns agen, from danger never free.If any stands she runs among the polesAnd barks and snaps and drive them in the holes.The shepherd sees them and the boy goes byAnd gets a…
He could not die when trees were green,
His little hands, when flowers were seen,Were held for the bluebell,As he was carried o’er the green.His eye glanced at the white-nosed bee;He knew those children of the spring:When he was well and on the leaHe held one in his hands to sing,Which filled his heart with glee.Infants, the children of the spring!How can an…
The schoolboys still their morning ramble take
Loitering with passtime’s leisure till they quake,Oft looking up the wild-geese droves to heed,Watching the letters which their journeys make;Or plucking haws on which their fieldfares feed,And hips and sloes; and on each shallow lakeMaking glib slides, where they like shadows goTill some fresh passtimes in their minds awake.Then off they start anew and hasty…
Oh, the world is all too rude for thee, with much ado and care;
Was there a nook in which the world had never been to sear,That place would prove a paradise when thou and Love were near.And there to pluck the blackberry, and there to reach the sloe,How joyously and happily would Love thy partner go;Then rest when weary on a bank, where not a grassy bladeHad eer…