All Poems
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108. Song-Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary?
© Robert Burns
WILL ye go to the Indies, my Mary,
And leave auld Scotia’s shore?
Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary,
Across th’ Atlantic roar?
On the Departure of Sir Walter Scott from Abbotsford, for Naples
© William Wordsworth
A trouble, not of clouds, or weeping rain,Nor of the setting sun's pathetic lightEngendered, hangs o'er Eildon's triple height:Spirits of Power, assembled there, complainFor kindred Power departing from their sight;While Tweed, best pleased in chanting a blithe strain,Saddens his voice again, and yet again
Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood
© William Wordsworth
The child is father of the man;And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety. (Wordsworth, "My Heart Leaps Up")
101. Song-Composed in Spring
© Robert Burns
AGAIN rejoicing Nature sees
Her robe assume its vernal hues:
Her leafy locks wave in the breeze,
All freshly steep’d in morning dews.
1. Song-Handsome Nell
© Robert Burns
O ONCE I lov’d a bonie lass,
Ay, and I love her still;
And whilst that virtue warms my breast,
I’ll love my handsome Nell.
Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, On Revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a Tour. July 13, 1798
© William Wordsworth
Five years have past; five summers, with the lengthOf five long winters! and again I hearThese waters, rolling from their mountain-springsWith a soft inland murmur
It is not to be Thought of
© William Wordsworth
It is not to be thought of that the FloodOf British freedom, which, to the open seaOf the world's praise, from dark antiquityHath flowed, "with pomp of waters, unwithstood,"Roused though it be full often to a moodWhich spurns the check of salutary bands,That this most famous Stream in bogs and sandsShould perish; and to evil and to goodBe lost for ever
It is a Beauteous Evening, Calm and Free
© William Wordsworth
It is a beauteous evening, calm and free,The holy time is quiet as a NunBreathless with adoration; the broad sunIs sinking down in its tranquility;The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Sea;Listen! the mighty Being is awake,And doth with his eternal motion makeA sound like thunder--everlastingly
Influence of Natural Objects in Calling Forth and Strengthening the Imagination in Boyhood and Early Youth
© William Wordsworth
Wisdom and Spirit of the universe!Thou Soul, that art the Eternity of thought!And giv'st to forms and images a breathAnd everlasting motion! not in vain,By day or star-light, thus from my first dawnOf childhood didst thou intertwine for meThe passions that build up our human soul;Not with the mean and vulgar works of Man;But with high objects, with enduring things,With life and nature; purifying thusThe elements of feeling and of thought,And sanctifying by such disciplineBoth pain and fear,--until we recogniseA grandeur in the beatings of the heart
The French Revolution as It Appeared to Enthusiasts at Its Commencement
© William Wordsworth
Oh! pleasant exercise of hope and joy!For mighty were the auxiliars which then stoodUpon our side, we who were strong in love!Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive,But to be young was very heaven!--Oh! times,In which the meagre, stale, forbidding waysOf custom, law, and statute, took at onceThe attraction of a country in romance!When Reason seemed the most to assert her rights,When most intent on making of herselfA prime Enchantress--to assist the workWhich then was going forward in her name!Not favoured spots alone, but the whole earth,The beauty wore of promise, that which sets(As at some moment might not be unfeltAmong the bowers of paradise itself )The budding rose above the rose full blown
Elegiac Stanzas Suggested by a Picture of Peele Castle in a Storm, Painted by Sir George Beaumont
© William Wordsworth
I was thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile!Four summer weeks I dwelt in sight of thee:I saw thee every day; and all the whileThy Form was sleeping on a glassy sea.
Song of a Sewing Machine
© Woodrow Constance
Oh, the happiest worker of all am I,As my wheel and my needle so merrily fly;With a spool full of thread and a heart full of song,I am ready and willing to work the day long.
Out of the Dust
© Woodrow Constance
Out of the dust of all the past I came: My body is compact of memoriesOf other lives in other forms than this, And I am kin to birds and beasts and trees.
Defeat
© Woodrow Constance
Between the grey monotony of sky And darker grey monotony of seaA solitary seagull passes by, Beating the air, and screaming plaintively.
The Suburbs
© Humbert Wolfe
Because they are so many and the same,The little houses row on weary row;Because they are so loveless and so lameIt were a bitter thing to tell them so
The Burial of Sir John Moore at Corunna
© Charles Wolfe
Not a drum was heard, nor a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried;Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried.
Ten Little Injuns
© Winner Septimus
Ten little Injuns standin' in a line,One toddled home and then there were nine;Nine little Injuns swingin' on a gate,One tumbled off and then there were eight.
The Lady in the White Dress, Whom I Helped Into the Omnibus
© Willis Nathaniel Parker
I know her not! Her hand has been in mine,And the warm pressure of her taper armHas thrill'd upon my fingers, and the hemOf her white dress has lain upon my feet,Till my hush'd pulse, by the caressing folds,Was kindled to a fever! I, to her,Am but the undistinguishable leafBlown by upon the breeze -- yet I have sat,And in the blue depths of her stainless eyes,(Close as a lover in his hour of bliss,And steadfastly as look the twin stars downInto unfathomable wells,) have gazed!And I have felt from out its gate of pearlHer warm breath on my cheek, and while she satDreaming away the moments, I have triedTo count the long dark lashes in the fringeOf her bewildering eyes! The kerchief sweetThat enviably visits her red lipHas slumber'd, while she held it, on my knee, --And her small foot has crept between mine own --And yet, she knows me not! Now, thanks to heavenFor blessings chainless in the rich man's keeping --Wealth that the miser cannot hide away!Buy, if they will, the invaluable flower --They cannot store its fragrance from the breeze!Wear, if they will, the costliest gem of Ind --It pours its light on every passing eye!And he who on this beauty sets his name --Who dreams, perhaps, that for his use aloneSuch loveliness was first of angels born --Tell him, oh whisperer at his dreaming ear,That I too, in her beauty, sun my eye,And, unrebuked, may worship her in song --Tell him that heaven, along our darkling way,Hath set bright lamps with loveliness alight --And all may in their guiding beams rejoice;But he -- as 'twere a watcher by a lamp --Guards but this bright one's shining
