Happy Is England I Could Be Content

Happy is England I could be content To see no other verdure than its own To feel no other breezes than are blown Through its tall woods with high romances blent Yet do I sometimes feel a languishment For skies Italian, and an inward groan And half forget what world or worldling meant. Happy is England, sweet her artless daughters Enough their simple loveliness for me, Enough their whitest arms in silence clinging Beauties of deeper glance, and hear their singing, And float with them about the...

O Solitude If I Must With Thee Dwell

0 Solitude if I must with thee dwell, Let it not be among the jumbled heap Of murky buildings climb with me the steep,& mdash Nature's observatory& mdash whence the dell, In flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell, May seem a span let me thy vigils keep 'Mongst boughs pavilioned, where the deer's swift leap Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell. But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee, Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind, Whose words are images of thoughts...

Endymion Book IV

Muse of my native land loftiest Muse 0 first-born on the mountains by the hues Of heaven on the spiritual air begot Long didst thou sit alone in northern grot, While yet our England was a wolfish den Before our forests heard the talk of men Before the first of Druids was a child Long didst thou sit amid our regions wild There came an eastern voice of solemn mood Yet wast thou patient. Then sang forth the Nine, Apollo's garland --yet didst thou divine Such home-bred glory, that they cry'd in...

If By Dull Rhymes Our English Must Be Chaind

If by dull rhymes our English must be chain'd, And, like Andromeda, the Sonnet sweet Fetter'd, in spite of pained loveliness Let us find out, if we must be constrain'd, Sandals more interwoven and complete To fit the naked foot of poesy Let us inspect the lyre, and weigh the stress Of every chord, and see what may be gain'd By ear industrious, and attention meet Misers of sound and syllable, no less Than Midas of his coinage, let us be Jealous of dead leaves in the bay wreath crown So, if we...

Where Be Ye Going You Devon Maid

WHERE be ye going, you Devon maid And what have ye there i' the basket Ye tight little fairy, just fresh from the dairy, Will ye give me some cream if I ask it I love your meads, and I love your flowers, And I love your junkets mainly, But 'hind the door, I love kissing more, 0 look not so disdainly I love your hills, and I love your dales, And I love your flocks a-bleating But 0, on the heather to lie together, With both our hearts a-beating I'll put your basket all safe in a nook, Your shawl...

On the

It keeps eternal whisperings around Desolate shores, and with its mighty swell Gluts twice ten thousand Caverns, till the spell Of Hecate leaves them their old shadowy sound. Often 'tis in such gentle temper found, That scarcely will the very smallest shell Be moved for days from where it sometime fell. When last the winds of Heaven were unbound. Oh, ye who have your eyeballs vexed and tired, Feast them upon the wideness of the Sea Oh ye whose ears are dinned with uproar rude, Or fed too much...