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I know that Wanton's noisy station, I know him and his occupation ; The jolly Bird
hath learned his cheer On the banks of Windermere ; Where a tribe of them make
merry, Mocking the Man that keeps the Ferry ; Hallooing from an open throat, ...
Art thou the Bird whom Man loves best, The pious Bird with the scarlet breast, Our
little English Robin ; The Bird that comes about our doors When Autumn winds
are sobbing ? Art thou the Peter of Norway Boors? Their Thomas in Finland, And
And find his way to me Under the branches of the tree : In and out, he darts about
; Can this be the Bird, to man so good, That, after their bewildering, Did cover with
leaves the little children, So painfully in the wood ? . What ailed thee, Robin, ...
In clouds above, the Lark is heard, — She sings, regardless of her rest, But in this
lonesome nook the Bird Did never build her nest. No Beast, no Bird hath here his
home ; The Bees, borne on the breezy air, Pass high above I 6 f 107 A ...
I have heard, 1 hear thee and rejoice : 0 Cuckoo ! shall I call thee Bird, Or but a
wandering Voice ? While I am lying on the grass, Thy loud note smites my ear ! It
seems to fill the whole air's space, At once far off and near ! 1 hear thee babbling
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the kitten of the filling leaves bp[y willam words worth
My favorite is "Solitary Reaper". When I first read it, I fell in love with the poem. It's like Wordsworth wrote it for me only.
I always feel understood and totally embraced everytime I read this poem and walk away with a full heart.