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247 Cards in this Set
- Front
- Back
I heard a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. |
Lines Written in Early Spring, William Wordsworth |
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To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man. |
Lines Written in Early Spring, William Wordsworth |
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Through primrose tufts, in that green bower, The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes. |
Lines Written in Early Spring, William Wordsworth |
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The birds around me hopped and played, Their thoughts I cannot measure: -- But the least motion which they made, It seemed a thrill of pleasure. |
Lines Written in Early Spring, William Wordsworth |
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The budding twigs spread out their fan, To catch the breezy air; And I must think, do all I can, That there was pleasure there. |
Lines Written in Early Spring, William Wordsworth |
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If this belief from heaven be sent, If such be Nature's holy plan, Have I not reason to lament What man has made of man? |
Lines Written in Early Spring, William Wordsworth |
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STRANGE fits of passion have I known: And I will dare to tell, But in the Lover's ear alone, What once to me befell. |
Strange fits of passion have I known, William Wordsworth |
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When she I loved looked every day Fresh as a rose in June, I to her cottage bent my way, Beneath an evening-moon. |
Strange fits of passion have I known, William Wordsworth |
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Upon the moon I fixed my eye, |
Strange fits of passion have I known, William Wordsworth |
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And now we reached the orchard-plot; |
Strange fits of passion have I known, William Wordsworth |
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In one of those sweet dreams I slept, |
Strange fits of passion have I known, William Wordsworth |
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My horse moved on; hoof after hoof |
Strange fits of passion have I known, William Wordsworth |
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What fond and wayward thoughts will slide |
Strange fits of passion have I known, William Wordsworth |
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She dwelt among the untrodden ways |
Song ("She Dwelt among th' untrodden ways"), William Wordsworth |
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A violet by a mossy stone |
Song ("She Dwelt among th' untrodden ways"), William Wordsworth |
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She lived unknown, and few could know |
Song ("She Dwelt among th' untrodden ways"), William Wordsworth |
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A slumber did my spirit seal |
A slumber did my spirit seal, William Wordsworth |
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No motion has she now, no force; |
A slumber did my spirit seal, William Wordsworth |
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At the corner of Wood-Street, when daylight appears, |
Poor Susan, William Wordsworth |
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'Tis a note of enchantment; what ails her? She sees |
Poor Susan, William Wordsworth |
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Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale, |
Poor Susan, William Wordsworth |
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She looks, and her heart is in Heaven: but they fade, |
Poor Susan, William Wordsworth |
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Poor Outcast! return---to receive thee once more |
Poor Susan, William Wordsworth |
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—It seems a day (I speak of one from many singled out) One of those heavenly days that cannot die; When, in the eagerness of boyish hope, I left our cottage-threshold, sallying forth With a huge wallet o'er my shoulders slung, |
Nutting, William Wordsworth |
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A nutting-crook in hand; and turned my steps Tow'rd some far-distant wood, a Figure quaint, Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds Which for that service had been husbanded, By exhortation of my frugal Dame— |
Nutting, William Wordsworth |
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Motley accoutrement, of power to smile At thorns, and brakes, and brambles,—and, in truth, More ragged than need was! O'er pathless rocks, Through beds of matted fern, and tangled thickets, Forcing my way, I came to one dear nook |
Nutting, William Wordsworth |
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Unvisited, where not a broken bough Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign Of devastation; but the hazels rose Tall and erect, with tempting clusters hung, A virgin scene!—A little while I stood, Breathing with such suppression of the heart |
Nutting, William Wordsworth |
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As joy delights in; and, with wise restraint Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed The banquet;—or beneath the trees I sate Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played; A temper known to those, who, after long And weary expectation, have been blest With sudden happiness beyond all hope. |
Nutting, William Wordsworth |
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Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves The violets of five seasons re-appear And fade, unseen by any human eye; Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on For ever; and I saw the sparkling foam, |
Nutting, William Wordsworth |
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And—with my cheek on one of those green stones That, fleeced with moss, under the shady trees, Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep— I heard the murmur, and the murmuring sound, In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure, |
Nutting, William Wordsworth |
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The heart luxuriates with indifferent things, Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones, And on the vacant air. Then up I rose, And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash And merciless ravage: and the shady nook Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower, |
Nutting, William Wordsworth |
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Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up Their quiet being: and, unless I now Confound my present feelings with the past; Ere from the mutilated bower I turned Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings, |
Nutting, William Wordsworth |
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I felt a sense of pain when I beheld The silent trees, and saw the intruding sky.— Then, dearest Maiden, move along these shades In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand Touch—for there is a spirit in the woods. |
Nutting, William Wordsworth |
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There was a roaring in the wind all night; The rain came heavily and fell in floods; But now the sun is rising calm and bright; The birds are singing in the distant woods; Over his own sweet voice the Stock-dove broods; The Jay makes answer as the Magpie chatters; And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters. |
Resolution and Independence, William Wordsworth |
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All things that love the sun are out of doors; The sky rejoices in the morning's birth; The grass is bright with rain-drops;—on the moors The hare is running races in her mirth; And with her feet she from the plashy earth Raises a mist, that, glittering in the sun, Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run. |
Resolution and Independence, William Wordsworth |
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I was a Traveller then upon the moor; I saw the hare that raced about with joy; I heard the woods and distant waters roar; Or heard them not, as happy as a boy: The pleasant season did my heart employ: My old remembrances went from me wholly; And all the ways of men, so vain and melancholy. |
Resolution and Independence, William Wordsworth |
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But, as it sometimes chanceth, from the might Of joys in minds that can no further go, As high as we have mounted in delight In our dejection do we sink as low; To me that morning did it happen so; And fears and fancies thick upon me came; Dim sadness—and blind thoughts, I knew not, nor could name. |
Resolution and Independence, William Wordsworth |
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I heard the sky-lark warbling in the sky; And I bethought me of the playful hare: Even such a happy Child of earth am I; Even as these blissful creatures do I fare; Far from the world I walk, and from all care; But there may come another day to me— Solitude, pain of heart, distress, and poverty. |
Resolution and Independence, William Wordsworth |
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My whole life I have lived in pleasant thought, As if life's business were a summer mood; As if all needful things would come unsought To genial faith, still rich in genial good; But how can He expect that others should Build for him, sow for him, and at his call Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all? |
Resolution and Independence, William Wordsworth |
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I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous Boy, The sleepless Soul that perished in his pride; Of Him who walked in glory and in joy Following his plough, along the mountain-side: By our own spirits are we deified: We Poets in our youth begin in gladness; But thereof come in the end despondency and madness. |
Resolution and Independence, William Wordsworth |
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Now, whether it were by peculiar grace, A leading from above, a something given, Yet it befell that, in this lonely place, When I with these untoward thoughts had striven, Beside a pool bare to the eye of heaven I saw a Man before me unawares: The oldest man he seemed that ever wore grey hairs. |
Resolution and Independence, William Wordsworth |
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As a huge stone is sometimes seen to lie Couched on the bald top of an eminence; Wonder to all who do the same espy, By what means it could thither come, and whence; So that it seems a thing endued with sense: Like a sea-beast crawled forth, that on a shelf Of rock or sand reposeth, there to sun itself; |
Resolution and Independence, William Wordsworth |
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Such seemed this Man, not all alive nor dead, Nor all asleep—in his extreme old age: His body was bent double, feet and head Coming together in life's pilgrimage; As if some dire constraint of pain, or rage Of sickness felt by him in times long past, A more than human weight upon his frame had cast. |
Resolution and Independence, William Wordsworth |
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Himself he propped, limbs, body, and pale face, Upon a long grey staff of shaven wood: And, still as I drew near with gentle pace, Upon the margin of that moorish flood Motionless as a cloud the old Man stood, That heareth not the loud winds when they call, And moveth all together, if it move at all. |
Resolution and Independence, William Wordsworth |
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At length, himself unsettling, he the pond Stirred with his staff, and fixedly did look Upon the muddy water, which he conned, As if he had been reading in a book: And now a stranger's privilege I took; And, drawing to his side, to him did say, "This morning gives us promise of a glorious day." |
Resolution and Independence, William Wordsworth |
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A gentle answer did the old Man make, In courteous speech which forth he slowly drew: And him with further words I thus bespake, "What occupation do you there pursue? This is a lonesome place for one like you." Ere he replied, a flash of mild surprise Broke from the sable orbs of his yet-vivid eyes. |
Resolution and Independence, William Wordsworth |
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His words came feebly, from a feeble chest, But each in solemn order followed each, With something of a lofty utterance drest— Choice word and measured phrase, above the reach Of ordinary men; a stately speech; Such as grave Livers do in Scotland use, Religious men, who give to God and man their dues. |
Resolution and Independence, William Wordsworth |
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He told, that to these waters he had come To gather leeches, being old and poor: Employment hazardous and wearisome! And he had many hardships to endure: From pond to pond he roamed, from moor to moor; Housing, with God's good help, by choice or chance; And in this way he gained an honest maintenance. |
Resolution and Independence, William Wordsworth |
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The old Man still stood talking by my side; But now his voice to me was like a stream Scarce heard; nor word from word could I divide; And the whole body of the Man did seem Like one whom I had met with in a dream; Or like a man from some far region sent, To give me human strength, by apt admonishment. |
Resolution and Independence, William Wordsworth |
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My former thoughts returned: the fear that kills; And hope that is unwilling to be fed; Cold, pain, and labour, and all fleshly ills; And mighty Poets in their misery dead. —Perplexed, and longing to be comforted, My question eagerly did I renew, "How is it that you live, and what is it you do?" |
Resolution and Independence, William Wordsworth |
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He with a smile did then his words repeat; And said that, gathering leeches, far and wide He travelled; stirring thus about his feet The waters of the pools where they abide. "Once I could meet with them on every side; But they have dwindled long by slow decay; Yet still I persevere, and find them where I may." |
Resolution and Independence, William Wordsworth |
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While he was talking thus, the lonely place, The old Man's shape, and speech—all troubled me: In my mind's eye I seemed to see him pace About the weary moors continually, Wandering about alone and silently. While I these thoughts within myself pursued, He, having made a pause, the same discourse renewed. |
Resolution and Independence, William Wordsworth |
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And soon with this he other matter blended, Cheerfully uttered, with demeanour kind, But stately in the main; and, when he ended, I could have laughed myself to scorn to find In that decrepit Man so firm a mind. "God," said I, "be my help and stay secure; I'll think of the Leech-gatherer on the lonely moor!" |
Resolution and Independence, William Wordsworth |
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I wandered lonely as a Cloud |
I wandered lonely as a Cloud, William Wordsworth |
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Continuous as the stars that shine |
I wandered lonely as a Cloud, William Wordsworth |
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The waves beside them danced; but they |
I wandered lonely as a Cloud, William Wordsworth |
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For oft, when on my couch I lie |
I wandered lonely as a Cloud, William Wordsworth |
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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 while Thy Form was sleeping on a glassy sea. |
Elegiac Stanzas, WIlliam Wordsworth |
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So pure the sky, so quiet was the air! So like, so very like, was day to day! Whene'er I looked, thy Image still was there; It trembled, but it never passed away. |
Elegiac Stanzas, WIlliam Wordsworth |
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How perfect was the calm! it seemed no sleep; No mood, which season takes away, or brings: I could have fancied that the mighty Deep Was even the gentlest of all gentle things. |
Elegiac Stanzas, WIlliam Wordsworth |
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Ah! then , if mine had been the Painter's hand, To express what then I saw; and add the gleam, The light that never was, on sea or land, The consecration, and the Poet's dream; |
Elegiac Stanzas, WIlliam Wordsworth |
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I would have planted thee, thou hoary Pile Amid a world how different from this! Beside a sea that could not cease to smile; On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss. |
Elegiac Stanzas, WIlliam Wordsworth |
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Thou shouldst have seemed a treasure-house divine Of peaceful years; a chronicle of heaven;— Of all the sunbeams that did ever shine The very sweetest had to thee been given. |
Elegiac Stanzas, WIlliam Wordsworth |
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A Picture had it been of lasting ease, Elysian quiet, without toil or strife; No motion but the moving tide, a breeze, Or merely silent Nature's breathing life. |
Elegiac Stanzas, WIlliam Wordsworth |
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Such, in the fond illusion of my heart, Such Picture would I at that time have made: And seen the soul of truth in every part, A steadfast peace that might not be betrayed. |
Elegiac Stanzas, WIlliam Wordsworth |
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So once it would have been,—'tis so no more; I have submitted to a new control: A power is gone, which nothing can restore; A deep distress hath humanised my Soul. |
Elegiac Stanzas, WIlliam Wordsworth |
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Not for a moment could I now behold A smiling sea, and be what I have been: The feeling of my loss will ne'er be old; This, which I know, I speak with mind serene. |
Elegiac Stanzas, WIlliam Wordsworth |
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Then, Beaumont, Friend! who would have been the Friend, If he had lived, of Him whom I deplore, This work of thine I blame not, but commend; This sea in anger, and that dismal shore. |
Elegiac Stanzas, WIlliam Wordsworth |
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O 'tis a passionate Work!—yet wise and well, Well chosen is the spirit that is here; That Hulk which labours in the deadly swell, This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear! |
Elegiac Stanzas, WIlliam Wordsworth |
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And this huge Castle, standing here sublime, I love to see the look with which it braves, Cased in the unfeeling armour of old time, The lightning, the fierce wind, the trampling waves. |
Elegiac Stanzas, WIlliam Wordsworth |
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Farewell, farewell the heart that lives alone, Housed in a dream, at distance from the Kind! Such happiness, wherever it be known, Is to be pitied; for 'tis surely blind. |
Elegiac Stanzas, WIlliam Wordsworth |
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But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer, And frequent sights of what is to be borne! Such sights, or worse, as are before me here.— Not without hope we suffer and we mourn. |
Elegiac Stanzas, WIlliam Wordsworth |
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Peaceful our valley, fair and green, |
Grasmere--A Fragment, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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Many and beautiful they are; |
Grasmere--A Fragment, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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Yet when I sit on rock or hill, |
Grasmere--A Fragment, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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Others there are whose small domain |
Grasmere--A Fragment, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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Such wish be his! I blame him not, |
Grasmere--A Fragment, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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Fields hath it of its own, green fields, |
Grasmere--A Fragment, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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And when the storm comes from the North |
Grasmere--A Fragment, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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And let it take its own delight; |
Grasmere--A Fragment, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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A green unfading grove it is, |
Grasmere--A Fragment, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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Precious the shelter of those trees; |
Grasmere--A Fragment, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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When first I saw that dear abode, |
Grasmere--A Fragment, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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A day so mild, it might have been |
Grasmere--A Fragment, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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A Stranger, Grasmere, in thy Vale, |
Grasmere--A Fragment, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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Lured by a little winding path, |
Grasmere--A Fragment, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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Eastward, toward the lofty hills, |
Grasmere--A Fragment, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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With russet oak and tufts of fern |
Grasmere--A Fragment, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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There, too, in many a sheltered chink |
Grasmere--A Fragment, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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Beneath that Rock my course I stayed, |
Grasmere--A Fragment, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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"Full long a dweller on the Plains, |
Grasmere--A Fragment, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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"What need of flowers? The splendid moss |
Grasmere--A Fragment, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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--Beside that gay and lovely Rock |
Grasmere--A Fragment, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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My youthful wishes all fulfill'd, |
Grasmere--A Fragment, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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Harmonious Powers with Nature work On sky, earth, river, lake, and sea: Sunshine and storm, whirlwind and breeze All in one duteous task agree. |
Floating Island, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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Once did I see a slip of earth, By throbbing waves long undermined, Loosed from its hold; — how no one knew But all might see it float, obedient to the wind. |
Floating Island, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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Might see it, from the mossy shore Dissevered float upon the Lake, Float, with its crest of trees adorned On which the warbling birds their pastime take. |
Floating Island, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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Food, shelter, safety there they find There berries ripen, flowerets bloom; There insects live their lives — and die: A peopled world it is; in size a tiny room. |
Floating Island, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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And thus through many seasons’ space This little Island may survive But Nature, though we mark her not, Will take away — may cease to give. |
Floating Island, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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Perchance when you are wandering forth Upon some vacant sunny day Without an object, hope, or fear, Thither your eyes may turn — the Isle is passed away. |
Floating Island, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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Buried beneath the glittering Lake! Its place no longer to be found, Yet the lost fragments shall remain, To fertilize some other ground. |
Floating Island, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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And has the remnant of my life |
Thoughts on My Sick-bed, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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Ah! say not so—the hidden life |
Thoughts on My Sick-bed, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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With joyful heart in youthful days |
Thoughts on My Sick-bed, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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With busy eyes I pierced the lane |
Thoughts on My Sick-bed, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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The violet betrayed by its noiseless breath, |
Thoughts on My Sick-bed, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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Our cottage-hearth no longer our home, |
Thoughts on My Sick-bed, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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Yet never in those careless days |
Thoughts on My Sick-bed, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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No! then I never felt a bliss |
Thoughts on My Sick-bed, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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When loving Friends an offering brought, |
Thoughts on My Sick-bed, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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With some sad thoughts the work was done. |
Thoughts on My Sick-bed, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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I felt a power unfelt before, |
Thoughts on My Sick-bed, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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No prisoner in this lonely room, |
Thoughts on My Sick-bed, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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No need of motion, or of strength, |
Thoughts on My Sick-bed, Dorothy Wordsworth |
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Dear native brook! wild streamlet of the West! |
Sonnet To The River Otter, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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But straight with all their tints thy waters rise, |
Sonnet To The River Otter, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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My pensive Sara! thy soft cheek reclined Thus on mine arm, most soothing sweet it is To sit beside our Cot, our Cot o’ergrown With white-flowered Jasmin, and the broad-leaved Myrtle, (Meet emblems they of Innocence and Love!) And watch the clouds, that late were rich with light, Slow saddening round, and mark the star of eve Serenely brilliant (such would Wisdom be) Shine opposite! How exquisite the scents Snatched from yon bean-field! and the world so hushed! The stilly murmur of the distant Sea Tells us of silence. |
The Eolian Harp, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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And that simplest Lute, Placed length-ways in the clasping casement, hark! How by the desultory breeze caressed, Like some coy maid half yielding to her lover, It pours such sweet upbraiding, as must needs Tempt to repeat the wrong! And now, its strings Boldlier swept, the long sequacious notes Over delicious surges sink and rise, Such a soft floating witchery of sound |
The Eolian Harp, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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As twilight Elfins make, when they at eve Voyage on gentle gales from Fairy-Land, Where Melodies round honey-dropping flowers, Footless and wild, like birds of Paradise, Nor pause, nor perch, hovering on untamed wing! O! the one Life within us and abroad, |
The Eolian Harp, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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Which meets all motion and becomes its soul, A light in sound, a sound-like power in light, Rhythm in all thought, and joyance everywhere— Methinks, it should have been impossible Not to love all things in a world so filled; Where the breeze warbles, and the mute still air Is Music slumbering on her instrument. |
The Eolian Harp, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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And thus, my Love! as on the midway slope Of yonder hill I stretch my limbs at noon, Whilst through my half-closed eyelids I behold The sunbeams dance, like diamonds, on the main, And tranquil muse upon tranquility: |
The Eolian Harp, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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Full many a thought uncalled and undetained, And many idle flitting phantasies, Traverse my indolent and passive brain, As wild and various as the random gales That swell and flutter on this subject Lute! |
The Eolian Harp, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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And what if all of animated nature Be but organic Harps diversely framed, That tremble into thought, as o’er them sweeps Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze, At once the Soul of each, and God of all? |
The Eolian Harp, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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But thy more serious eye a mild reproof Darts, O beloved Woman! nor such thoughts Dim and unhallowed dost thou not reject, And biddest me walk humbly with my God. Meek Daughter in the family of Christ! |
The Eolian Harp, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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Well hast thou said and holily dispraised These shapings of the unregenerate mind; Bubbles that glitter as they rise and break On vain Philosophy’s aye-babbling spring. For never guiltless may I speak of him, The Incomprehensible! save when with awe I praise him, and with Faith that inly feels; |
The Eolian Harp, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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Who with his saving mercies healèd me, A sinful and most miserable man, Wildered and dark, and gave me to possess Peace, and this Cot, and thee, heart-honored Maid! |
The Eolian Harp, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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Well, they are gone, and here must I remain, This lime-tree bower my prison! I have lost Beauties and feelings, such as would have been Most sweet to my remembrance even when age Had dimm'd mine eyes to blindness! They, meanwhile, Friends, whom I never more may meet again, |
This Lime-Tree Bower My Prison, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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On springy heath, along the hill-top edge, Wander in gladness, and wind down, perchance, To that still roaring dell, of which I told; The roaring dell, o'erwooded, narrow, deep, And only speckled by the mid-day sun; |
This Lime-Tree Bower My Prison, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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Where its slim trunk the ash from rock to rock Flings arching like a bridge;—that branchless ash, Unsunn'd and damp, whose few poor yellow leaves Ne'er tremble in the gale, yet tremble still, Fann'd by the water-fall! and there my friends Behold the dark green file of long lank weeds, That all at once (a most fantastic sight!) Still nod and drip beneath the dripping edge Of the blue clay-stone. |
This Lime-Tree Bower My Prison, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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Now, my friends emerge Beneath the wide wide Heaven—and view again The many-steepled tract magnificent Of hilly fields and meadows, and the sea, With some fair bark, perhaps, whose sails light up |
This Lime-Tree Bower My Prison, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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The slip of smooth clear blue betwixt two Isles Of purple shadow! Yes! they wander on In gladness all; but thou, methinks, most glad, My gentle-hearted Charles! for thou hast pined And hunger'd after Nature, many a year, In the great City pent, winning thy way |
This Lime-Tree Bower My Prison, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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With sad yet patient soul, through evil and pain And strange calamity! Ah! slowly sink Behind the western ridge, thou glorious Sun! Shine in the slant beams of the sinking orb, Ye purple heath-flowers! richlier burn, ye clouds! Live in the yellow light, ye distant groves! |
This Lime-Tree Bower My Prison, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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And kindle, thou blue Ocean! So my friend Struck with deep joy may stand, as I have stood, Silent with swimming sense; yea, gazing round On the wide landscape, gaze till all doth seem Less gross than bodily; and of such hues As veil the Almighty Spirit, when yet he makes Spirits perceive his presence. |
This Lime-Tree Bower My Prison, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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A delight Comes sudden on my heart, and I am glad As I myself were there! Nor in this bower, This little lime-tree bower, have I not mark'd Much that has sooth'd me. Pale beneath the blaze Hung the transparent foliage; and I watch'd Some broad and sunny leaf, and lov'd to see |
This Lime-Tree Bower My Prison, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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The shadow of the leaf and stem above Dappling its sunshine! And that walnut-tree Was richly ting'd, and a deep radiance lay Full on the ancient ivy, which usurps Those fronting elms, and now, with blackest mass Makes their dark branches gleam a lighter hue |
This Lime-Tree Bower My Prison, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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Through the late twilight: and though now the bat Wheels silent by, and not a swallow twitters, Yet still the solitary humble-bee Sings in the bean-flower! Henceforth I shall know That Nature ne'er deserts the wise and pure; |
This Lime-Tree Bower My Prison, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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No plot so narrow, be but Nature there, No waste so vacant, but may well employ Each faculty of sense, and keep the heart Awake to Love and Beauty! and sometimes 'Tis well to be bereft of promis'd good, That we may lift the soul, and contemplate With lively joy the joys we cannot share. |
This Lime-Tree Bower My Prison, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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My gentle-hearted Charles! when the last rook Beat its straight path along the dusky air Homewards, I blest it! deeming its black wing (Now a dim speck, now vanishing in light) Had cross'd the mighty Orb's dilated glory, While thou stood'st gazing; or, when all was still, Flew creeking o'er thy head, and had a charm For thee, my gentle-hearted Charles, to whom No sound is dissonant which tells of Life. |
This Lime-Tree Bower My Prison, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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The Frost performs its secret ministry, Unhelped by any wind. The owlet's cry Came loud—and hark, again! loud as before. The inmates of my cottage, all at rest, Have left me to that solitude, which suits Abstruser musings: save that at my side My cradled infant slumbers peacefully. |
Frost at Midnight, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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'Tis calm indeed! so calm, that it disturbs And vexes meditation with its strange And extreme silentness. Sea, hill, and wood, This populous village! Sea, and hill, and wood, |
Frost at Midnight, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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With all the numberless goings-on of life, Inaudible as dreams! the thin blue flame Lies on my low-burnt fire, and quivers not; Only that film, which fluttered on the grate, |
Frost at Midnight, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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Still flutters there, the sole unquiet thing. Methinks, its motion in this hush of nature Gives it dim sympathies with me who live, Making it a companionable form, Whose puny flaps and freaks the idling Spirit By its own moods interprets, every where Echo or mirror seeking of itself, And makes a toy of Thought. |
Frost at Midnight, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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But O! how oft, How oft, at school, with most believing mind, Presageful, have I gazed upon the bars, To watch that fluttering stranger ! and as oft With unclosed lids, already had I dreamt Of my sweet birth-place, and the old church-tower, Whose bells, the poor man's only music, rang From morn to evening, all the hot Fair-day, |
Frost at Midnight, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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So sweetly, that they stirred and haunted me With a wild pleasure, falling on mine ear Most like articulate sounds of things to come! So gazed I, till the soothing things, I dreamt, Lulled me to sleep, and sleep prolonged my dreams! |
Frost at Midnight, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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And so I brooded all the following morn, Awed by the stern preceptor's face, mine eye Fixed with mock study on my swimming book: Save if the door half opened, and I snatched A hasty glance, and still my heart leaped up, For still I hoped to see the stranger's face, Townsman, or aunt, or sister more beloved, My play-mate when we both were clothed alike! |
Frost at Midnight, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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Dear Babe, that sleepest cradled by my side, Whose gentle breathings, heard in this deep calm, Fill up the intersperséd vacancies And momentary pauses of the thought! My babe so beautiful! it thrills my heart With tender gladness, thus to look at thee, |
Frost at Midnight, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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And think that thou shalt learn far other lore, And in far other scenes! For I was reared In the great city, pent 'mid cloisters dim, And saw nought lovely but the sky and stars. But thou, my babe! shalt wander like a breeze By lakes and sandy shores, beneath the crags Of ancient mountain, and beneath the clouds, |
Frost at Midnight, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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Which image in their bulk both lakes and shores And mountain crags: so shalt thou see and hear The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible Of that eternal language, which thy God Utters, who from eternity doth teach Himself in all, and all things in himself. Great universal Teacher! he shall mould Thy spirit, and by giving make it ask. |
Frost at Midnight, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee, Whether the summer clothe the general earth With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch Smokes in the sun-thaw; whether the eave-drops fall Heard only in the trances of the blast, Or if the secret ministry of frost Shall hang them up in silent icicles, Quietly shining to the quiet Moon. |
Frost at Midnight, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three. 'By thy long grey beard and glittering eye, Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?
The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide,
And I am next of kin; The guests are met, the feast is set: May'st hear the merry din.' |
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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He holds him with his skinny hand, 'There was a ship,' quoth he. 'Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!' Eftsoons his hand dropt he.
He holds him with his glittering eye—
The Wedding-Guest stood still, And listens like a three years' child: The Mariner hath his will. |
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone: He cannot choose but hear; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed Mariner.
'The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,
Merrily did we drop Below the kirk, below the hill, Below the lighthouse top. |
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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The Sun came up upon the left, Out of the sea came he! And he shone bright, and on the right Went down into the sea.
Higher and higher every day, Till over the mast at noon—' The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast, For he heard the loud bassoon. |
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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The bride hath paced into the hall, Red as a rose is she; Nodding their heads before her goes The merry minstrelsy.
The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast, Yet he cannot choose but hear; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed Mariner. |
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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And now the STORM-BLAST came, and he Was tyrannous and strong: He struck with his o'ertaking wings, And chased us south along.
With sloping masts and dipping prow,
As who pursued with yell and blow Still treads the shadow of his foe, And forward bends his head, The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, And southward aye we fled. |
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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And now there came both mist and snow, And it grew wondrous cold: And ice, mast-high, came floating by, As green as emerald.
And through the drifts the snowy clifts
Did send a dismal sheen: Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken— The ice was all between. |
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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The ice was here, the ice was there, The ice was all around: It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, Like noises in a swound!
At length did cross an Albatross, Thorough the fog it came; As if it had been a Christian soul, We hailed it in God's name. |
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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It ate the food it ne'er had eat, And round and round it flew. The ice did split with a thunder-fit; The helmsman steered us through!
And a good south wind sprung up behind; The Albatross did follow, And every day, for food or play, Came to the mariner's hollo! |
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, It perched for vespers nine; Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white, Glimmered the white Moon-shine.'
'God save thee, ancient Mariner!
From the fiends, that plague thee thus!— Why look'st thou so?'—With my cross-bow I shot the ALBATROSS. |
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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'Tis the middle of night by the castle clock, And the owls have awakened the crowing cock; Tu—whit! Tu—whoo! And hark, again! the crowing cock, How drowsily it crew. Sir Leoline, the Baron rich, Hath a toothless mastiff bitch; From her kennel beneath the rock She maketh answer to the clock, Four for the quarters, and twelve for the hour; Ever and aye, by shine and shower, Sixteen short howls, not over loud; Some say, she sees my lady's shroud. |
Christabel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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Is the night chilly and dark? The night is chilly, but not dark. The thin gray cloud is spread on high, It covers but not hides the sky. The moon is behind, and at the full; And yet she looks both small and dull. The night is chill, the cloud is gray: 'Tis a month before the month of May, And the Spring comes slowly up this way. |
Christabel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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The lovely lady, Christabel, Whom her father loves so well, What makes her in the wood so late, A furlong from the castle gate? She had dreams all yesternight Of her own betrothèd knight; And she in the midnight wood will pray For the weal of her lover that's far away. |
Christabel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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She stole along, she nothing spoke, The sighs she heaved were soft and low, And naught was green upon the oak But moss and rarest misletoe: She kneels beneath the huge oak tree, And in silence prayeth she. |
Christabel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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The lady sprang up suddenly, The lovely lady Christabel! It moaned as near, as near can be, But what it is she cannot tell.— On the other side it seems to be, Of the huge, broad-breasted, old oak tree. |
Christabel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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The night is chill; the forest bare; Is it the wind that moaneth bleak? There is not wind enough in the air To move away the ringlet curl From the lovely lady's cheek— There is not wind enough to twirl The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky. |
Christabel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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Hush, beating heart of Christabel! Jesu, Maria, shield her well! She folded her arms beneath her cloak, And stole to the other side of the oak. What sees she there? |
Christabel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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There she sees a damsel bright, Drest in a silken robe of white, That shadowy in the moonlight shone: The neck that made that white robe wan, Her stately neck, and arms were bare; Her blue-veined feet unsandl'd were, And wildly glittered here and there The gems entangled in her hair. I guess, 'twas frightful there to see A lady so richly clad as she— Beautiful exceedingly! |
Christabel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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Mary mother, save me now! (Said Christabel) And who art thou?
The lady strange made answer meet,
And her voice was faint and sweet:— Have pity on my sore distress, I scarce can speak for weariness: Stretch forth thy hand, and have no fear! Said Christabel, How camest thou here? And the lady, whose voice was faint and sweet, Did thus pursue her answer meet:— |
Christabel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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My sire is of a noble line, And my name is Geraldine: Five warriors seized me yestermorn, Me, even me, a maid forlorn: They choked my cries with force and fright, And tied me on a palfrey white. The palfrey was as fleet as wind, And they rode furiously behind. They spurred amain, their steeds were white: And once we crossed the shade of night. |
Christabel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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As sure as Heaven shall rescue me, I have no thought what men they be; Nor do I know how long it is (For I have lain entranced I wis) Since one, the tallest of the five, Took me from the palfrey's back, A weary woman, scarce alive. Some muttered words his comrades spoke: |
Christabel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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He placed me underneath this oak; He swore they would return with haste; Whither they went I cannot tell— I thought I heard, some minutes past, Sounds as of a castle bell. Stretch forth thy hand (thus ended she). And help a wretched maid to flee. |
Christabel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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Then Christabel stretched forth her hand, And comforted fair Geraldine: O well, bright dame! may you command The service of Sir Leoline; And gladly our stout chivalry Will he send forth and friends withal To guide and guard you safe and free Home to your noble father's hall. |
Christabel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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She rose: and forth with steps they passed That strove to be, and were not, fast. Her gracious stars the lady blest, And thus spake on sweet Christabel: All our household are at rest, The hall as silent as the cell; Sir Leoline is weak in health, And may not well awakened be, But we will move as if in stealth, And I beseech your courtesy, This night, to share your couch with me. |
Christabel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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They crossed the moat, and Christabel Took the key that fitted well; A little door she opened straight, All in the middle of the gate; The gate that was ironed within and without, Where an army in battle array had marched out. The lady sank, belike through pain, And Christabel with might and main Lifted her up, a weary weight, Over the threshold of the gate: Then the lady rose again, And moved, as she were not in pain. |
Christabel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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So free from danger, free from fear, They crossed the court: right glad they were. And Christabel devoutly cried To the lady by her side, Praise we the Virgin all divine Who hath rescued thee from thy distress! Alas, alas! said Geraldine, I cannot speak for weariness. So free from danger, free from fear, They crossed the court: right glad they were. |
Christabel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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Outside her kennel, the mastiff old Lay fast asleep, in moonshine cold. The mastiff old did not awake, Yet she an angry moan did make! And what can ail the mastiff bitch? Never till now she uttered yell Beneath the eye of Christabel. Perhaps it is the owlet's scritch: For what can ail the mastiff bitch? |
Christabel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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They passed the hall, that echoes still, Pass as lightly as you will! The brands were flat, the brands were dying, Amid their own white ashes lying; But when the lady passed, there came A tongue of light, a fit of flame; And Christabel saw the lady's eye, And nothing else saw she thereby, Save the boss of the shield of Sir Leoline tall, Which hung in a murky old niche in the wall. O softly tread, said Christabel, My father seldom sleepeth well. |
Christabel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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Sweet Christabel her feet doth bare, And jealous of the listening air They steal their way from stair to stair, Now in glimmer, and now in gloom, And now they pass the Baron's room, As still as death, with stifled breath! And now have reached her chamber door; And now doth Geraldine press down The rushes of the chamber floor. |
Christabel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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The moon shines dim in the open air, And not a moonbeam enters here. But they without its light can see The chamber carved so curiously, Carved with figures strange and sweet, All made out of the carver's brain, For a lady's chamber meet: The lamp with twofold silver chain Is fastened to an angel's feet. |
Christabel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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The silver lamp burns dead and dim; But Christabel the lamp will trim. She trimmed the lamp, and made it bright, And left it swinging to and fro, While Geraldine, in wretched plight, Sank down upon the floor below.
O weary lady, Geraldine,
I pray you, drink this cordial wine! It is a wine of virtuous powers; My mother made it of wild flowers. |
Christabel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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And will your mother pity me, Who am a maiden most forlorn? Christabel answered—Woe is me! She died the hour that I was born. I have heard the grey-haired friar tell How on her death-bed she did say, That she should hear the castle-bell Strike twelve upon my wedding-day. O mother dear! that thou wert here! I would, said Geraldine, she were! |
Christabel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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But soon with altered voice, said she— 'Off, wandering mother! Peak and pine! I have power to bid thee flee.' Alas! what ails poor Geraldine? Why stares she with unsettled eye? Can she the bodiless dead espy?
And why with hollow voice cries she,
'Off, woman, off! this hour is mine— Though thou her guardian spirit be, Off, woman, off! 'tis given to me.' |
Christabel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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Then Christabel knelt by the lady's side, And raised to heaven her eyes so blue— Alas! said she, this ghastly ride— Dear lady! it hath wildered you! The lady wiped her moist cold brow, And faintly said, ' 'tis over now!'
Again the wild-flower wine she drank: Her fair large eyes 'gan glitter bright, And from the floor whereon she sank, The lofty lady stood upright: She was most beautiful to see, Like a lady of a far countrèe. |
Christabel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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And thus the lofty lady spake— 'All they who live in the upper sky, Do love you, holy Christabel! And you love them, and for their sake And for the good which me befel, Even I in my degree will try, Fair maiden, to requite you well. But now unrobe yourself; for I Must pray, ere yet in bed I lie.' |
Christabel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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Quoth Christabel, So let it be! And as the lady bade, did she. Her gentle limbs did she undress, And lay down in her loveliness.
But through her brain of weal and woe
So many thoughts moved to and fro, That vain it were her lids to close; So half-way from the bed she rose, And on her elbow did recline To look at the lady Geraldine. |
Christabel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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Beneath the lamp the lady bowed, And slowly rolled her eyes around; Then drawing in her breath aloud, Like one that shuddered, she unbound The cincture from beneath her breast: Her silken robe, and inner vest, Dropt to her feet, and full in view, Behold! her bosom and half her side— A sight to dream of, not to tell! O shield her! shield sweet Christabel! |
Christabel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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Yet Geraldine nor speaks nor stirs; Ah! what a stricken look was hers! Deep from within she seems half-way To lift some weight with sick assay, And eyes the maid and seeks delay; Then suddenly, as one defied, Collects herself in scorn and pride, And lay down by the Maiden's side!— And in her arms the maid she took, Ah wel-a-day! And with low voice and doleful look These words did say: |
Christabel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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'In the touch of this bosom there worketh a spell, Which is lord of thy utterance, Christabel! Thou knowest to-night, and wilt know to-morrow, This mark of my shame, this seal of my sorrow; But vainly thou warrest, For this is alone in Thy power to declare, That in the dim forest Thou heard'st a low moaning, And found'st a bright lady, surpassingly fair; And didst bring her home with thee in love and in charity, To shield her and shelter her from the damp air.' |
Christabel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-dome decree: Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground With walls and towers were girdled round; And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree; And here were forests ancient as the hills, Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. |
Kubla Khan, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! A savage place! as holy and enchanted As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover! And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, A mighty fountain momently was forced: Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail: |
Kubla Khan, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever It flung up momently the sacred river. Five miles meandering with a mazy motion Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, Then reached the caverns measureless to man, And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean; And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far Ancestral voices prophesying war! The shadow of the dome of pleasure Floated midway on the waves; Where was heard the mingled measure From the fountain and the caves. It was a miracle of rare device, A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice! |
Kubla Khan, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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A damsel with a dulcimer In a vision once I saw: It was an Abyssinian maid And on her dulcimer she played, Singing of Mount Abora. Could I revive within me Her symphony and song, To such a deep delight ’twould win me, |
Kubla Khan, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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That with music loud and long, I would build that dome in air, That sunny dome! those caves of ice! And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware! Beware! His flashing eyes, his floating hair! Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise. |
Kubla Khan, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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Well! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence, This night, so tranquil now, will not go hence Unroused by winds, that ply a busier trade Than those which mould yon cloud in lazy flakes, Or the dull sobbing draft, that moans and rakes Upon the strings of this Æolian lute, Which better far were mute. |
Dejection: An Ode, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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For lo! the New-moon winter-bright! And overspread with phantom light, (With swimming phantom light o'erspread But rimmed and circled by a silver thread) I see the old Moon in her lap, foretelling The coming-on of rain and squally blast. |
Dejection: An Ode, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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And oh! that even now the gust were swelling, And the slant night-shower driving loud and fast! Those sounds which oft have raised me, whilst they awed, And sent my soul abroad, Might now perhaps their wonted impulse give, Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and live! |
Dejection: An Ode, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear, A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief, Which finds no natural outlet, no relief, In word, or sigh, or tear— O Lady! in this wan and heartless mood, To other thoughts by yonder throstle woo'd, All this long eve, so balmy and serene, |
Dejection: An Ode, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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Have I been gazing on the western sky, And its peculiar tint of yellow green: And still I gaze—and with how blank an eye! And those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars, That give away their motion to the stars; Those stars, that glide behind them or between, Now sparkling, now bedimmed, but always seen: Yon crescent Moon, as fixed as if it grew In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue; I see them all so excellently fair, I see, not feel, how beautiful they are! |
Dejection: An Ode, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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My genial spirits fail; And what can these avail To lift the smothering weight from off my breast? It were a vain endeavour, Though I should gaze for ever On that green light that lingers in the west: I may not hope from outward forms to win The passion and the life, whose fountains are within. |
Dejection: An Ode, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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O Lady! we receive but what we give, And in our life alone does Nature live: Ours is her wedding garment, ours her shroud! And would we aught behold, of higher worth, Than that inanimate cold world allowed To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd, Ah! from the soul itself must issue forth A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud Enveloping the Earth— And from the soul itself must there be sent A sweet and potent voice, of its own birth, Of all sweet sounds the life and element! |
Dejection: An Ode, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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O pure of heart! thou need'st not ask of me What this strong music in the soul may be! What, and wherein it doth exist, This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist, This beautiful and beauty-making power. Joy, virtuous Lady! Joy that ne'er was given, Save to the pure, and in their purest hour, Life, and Life's effluence, cloud at once and shower, Joy, Lady! is the spirit and the power, Which wedding Nature to us gives in dower A new Earth and new Heaven, Undreamt of by the sensual and the proud— Joy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous cloud— We in ourselves rejoice! And thence flows all that charms or ear or sight, All melodies the echoes of that voice, All colours a suffusion from that light. |
Dejection: An Ode, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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There was a time when, though my path was rough, This joy within me dallied with distress, And all misfortunes were but as the stuff Whence Fancy made me dreams of happiness: For hope grew round me, like the twining vine, And fruits, and foliage, not my own, seemed mine. But now afflictions bow me down to earth: Nor care I that they rob me of my mirth; But oh! each visitation Suspends what nature gave me at my birth, My shaping spirit of Imagination. For not to think of what I needs must feel, But to be still and patient, all I can; And haply by abstruse research to steal From my own nature all the natural man— This was my sole resource, my only plan: Till that which suits a part infects the whole, And now is almost grown the habit of my soul. |
Dejection: An Ode, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around my mind, Reality's dark dream! I turn from you, and listen to the wind, Which long has raved unnoticed. What a scream Of agony by torture lengthened out That lute sent forth! Thou Wind, that rav'st without, Bare crag, or mountain-tairn, or blasted tree, Or pine-grove whither woodman never clomb, Or lonely house, long held the witches' home, |
Dejection: An Ode, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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Methinks were fitter instruments for thee, Mad Lutanist! who in this month of showers, Of dark-brown gardens, and of peeping flowers, Mak'st Devils' yule, with worse than wintry song, The blossoms, buds, and timorous leaves among. Thou Actor, perfect in all tragic sounds! Thou mighty Poet, e'en to frenzy bold! What tell'st thou now about? |
Dejection: An Ode, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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'Tis of the rushing of an host in rout, With groans, of trampled men, with smarting wounds— At once they groan with pain, and shudder with the cold! But hush! there is a pause of deepest silence! And all that noise, as of a rushing crowd, With groans, and tremulous shudderings—all is over— It tells another tale, with sounds less deep and loud! |
Dejection: An Ode, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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A tale of less affright, And tempered with delight, As Otway's self had framed the tender lay,— 'Tis of a little child Upon a lonesome wild, Nor far from home, but she hath lost her way: And now moans low in bitter grief and fear, And now screams loud, and hopes to make her mother hear. |
Dejection: An Ode, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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'Tis midnight, but small thoughts have I of sleep: Full seldom may my friend such vigils keep! Visit her, gentle Sleep! with wings of healing, And may this storm be but a mountain-birth, May all the stars hang bright above her dwelling, Silent as though they watched the sleeping Earth! With light heart may she rise, Gay fancy, cheerful eyes, Joy lift her spirit, joy attune her voice; To her may all things live, from pole to pole, Their life the eddying of her living soul! O simple spirit, guided from above, Dear Lady! friend devoutest of my choice, Thus mayest thou ever, evermore rejoice. |
Dejection: An Ode, Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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Rintrah roars and shakes his fires in the burdened air; |
Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake |
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Then the perilous path was planted: |
Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake |
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Now the sneaking serpent walks |
Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake |
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As a new heaven is begun, and it is now thirty-three |
Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake |
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All Bibles or sacred codes have been the causes of the |
Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake |
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Those who restrain desire do so because theirs is weak |
Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake |
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As I was walking among the fires of hell, delighted with |
Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake |
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In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy. |
Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake |
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Prisons are built with stones of Law, Brothels with bricks |
Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake |
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The fox provides for himself, but God provides for the lion. |
Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake |
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The head Sublime, the heart Pathos, the genitals Beauty, |
Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake |
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The ancient Poets animated all sensible objects with |
Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake |
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The Prophets Isaiah and Ezekiel dined with me, and I |
Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake |
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Then Ezekiel said: ‘The philosophy of the East |
Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake |
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‘This’, said he, ‘like all firm persuasions, is come to |
Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake |
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The ancient tradition that the world will be consumed in |
Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake |
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I was in a Printing house in Hell and saw the method in |
Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake |
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The Giants who formed this world into its sensual |
Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake |
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An Angel came to me and said: ‘O pitiable foolish young |
Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake |
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So I remained with him, sitting in the twisted root of |
Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake |
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But now, from between the black and white spiders, |
Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake |
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My friend, the Angel, climbed up from his station |
Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake |
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I answered: ‘All that we saw was owing to your |
Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake |
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‘Here’, said I, ‘is your lot, in this space, if space it |
Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake |
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So the Angel said: ‘Thy phantasy has imposed upon |
Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake |
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I have always found that Angels have the vanity to speak |
Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake |
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And now hear the reason. He conversed with Angels |
Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake |
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Once I saw a Devil in a flame of fire who arose before an |
Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake |
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The Devil answered: ‘Bray a fool in a mortar with |
Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake |
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When he had so spoken I beheld the Angel, who |
Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake |
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Piping down the valleys wild, |
Songs of Innocence (Introduction) William Blake |
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How sweet is the Shepherd’s sweet lot! |
Songs of Innocence (The Shepherd) William Blake |
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The sun does arise, |
Songs of Innocence (The Echoing Green) William Blake |
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Little Lamb, who make thee |
Songs of Innocence (The Lamb) William Blake |
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My mother bore me in the southern wild, |
Songs of Innocence (The Little Black Boy) William Blake |
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When my mother died I was very young, |
Songs of Innocence (The Chimney-Sweeper) William Blake |
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’Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean, |
Songs of Innocence (Holy Thursday) William Blake |
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Is this a holy thing to see |
Songs of Experience (Holy Thursday) William Blake |
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Little Fly, |
Songs of Experience (The Fly) William Blake |
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Tiger, tiger, burning bright |
Songs of Experience (The Tyger) William Blake |