Behold-a length of hundred leagues displayed— Beneath me was the misty sea. Beneath the hedge, or near the stream By the grey sand-hills, o'er the cold sea-shore: where, dumbly Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way Dear garden! once again with lingering look Down the sultry arc of day Early in spring-time, on raw and windy mornings Fair Daffodils, we weep to see. Fair pledges of a fruitful tree. Flow, river, flow. For lo, what think you? suddenly From yonder wood mark blue-eyed Eve proceed. Green little vaulter in the sunny grass Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove Hail to thee, blithe spirit. Here the rude clamour of the sportman's joy. I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song I love at eventide to walk alone In spring and summer winds may blow Into the sunshine, full of the light I see a column of slow-rising smoke I stood tiptoe upon a little hill I stood upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch It chanced upon the merry merry Christmas eve It is the midnight hour:-the beauteous sea. I walked by mysel' ower the sweet braes o' Yarrow I wandered lonely as a cloud. Lie here, without a record of thy worth Mark how the feathered tenants of the flood. No cloud, no relique of the sunken day Now from the roost, or from the neighbouring pale. O blithe new comer! I have heard Oh! Sky-lark, for thy wing Oh the summer night On his morning rounds the master There is a stream (I name not its name, lest inquisitive tourist . Thou comest, autumn, heralded by the rain To yonder hill, whose sides, deform'd and steep. 'Twer when the busy birds did vlee Untremulous in the river clear Wee, sleekit, cowrin', tim'rous beastie We walked within the Churchyard bounds When Autumn scatters his departing gleams Winter is cold-hearted. Winter is past; the heart of Nature warms With little here to do or see Ye field flowers! the gardens eclipse you, 'tis true |