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The air, as in a lion's den, Is close and hot ; — and now and then Comes a tired
and sultry breeze With a haunting and a panting, Like the stifling of disease ; The
mountains rise to wonderous height, And in the heavens there is a weight ; But ...
But see ! where'er the hailstones drop. The withered leaves all skip and hop,
There's not a breeze — no breath of air — Yet here, and there, and every where
Along the floor, beneath the shade By those embowering hollies d 3 53 A whirl-
Upon yon tuft of hazel trees, That twinkle to the gusty breeze, Behold him
perched in ecstasies, Yet seeming still to hover ; There ! where the flutter of his
wings Upon his back and body flings Shadows and sunny glimmerings, That
cover him all ...
Poised in the middle region of the air He hung, — then floated with angelic ease (
Softening that bright effulgence by degrees) Until he reached a rock, of summit
bare, Where oft the vent'rous Heifer drinks the summer breeze. Upon the apex of
But they are ever playing, And twinkling in the light, — And if a breeze be straying
, That breeze she will invite ; And stands on tiptoe, conscious she is fair, And calls
a look of love into her face — And spreads her arms — as if the general air ...
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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.