The Poetry of Nature

Sampson Low, Marston, Low, and Searle, 1867 - 72 páginas

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Página 9 - Whither, midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way?
Página 58 - MINE be a cot beside the hill ; A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear; A willowy brook, that turns a mill, With many a fall shall linger near. The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch, Shall twitter from her clay-built nest; Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, And share my meal, a welcome guest.
Página 69 - Which the great lord inhabits not ; and so This grove is wild with tangling underwood, And the trim walks are broken up, and grass, Thin grass and king-cups grow within the paths.
Página 40 - I have a garden of my own, But so with roses overgrown, And lilies, that you would it guess To be a little wilderness ; And all the springtime of the year It only loved to be there.
Página 26 - Glancing through that covert green. The dog is not of mountain breed ; Its motions, too, are wild and shy ; With something, as the shepherd thinks, Unusual in its cry : Nor is there any one in sight All round, in hollow or on height ; Nor shout, nor whistle strikes his ear — What is the creature doing here ? It was a cove, a huge recess, That keeps, till June, December's snow ; A lofty precipice in front, A silent tarn...
Página 10 - Teaches thy way along that pathless coast, The desert and illimitable air — Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near. And soon that toil shall end; Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend, Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest.
Página 29 - Midst nature's revels, sports that never cloy. A few begin a short but vigorous race, And indolence abash'd, soon flies the place ; Thus challenged forth, see thither one by one, From every side assembling playmates run ; A thousand wily antics mark their stay, A starting crowd, impatient of delay. Like the fond dove from fearful prison freed, Each seems to say, " come, let us try our speed...
Página 27 - This lamentable tale I tell! A lasting monument of words This wonder merits well, The Dog, which still was hovering nigh, Repeating the same timid cry, This Dog had been through three months' space A dweller in that savage place.
Página 10 - Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart. He who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, jo In the long way that I must tread alone Will lead my steps aright.
Página 68 - And hark ! the nightingale begins its song, " Most musical, most melancholy " bird ! A melancholy bird ! oh ! idle thought ! In nature there is nothing melancholy. But some night-wandering man whose heart was pierced With the remembrance of a grievous wrong, Or slow distemper, or neglected love, (And so, poor wretch!

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