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Yet, whate'er enjoyments dwell In the impenetrable cell Of the silent heart which
Nature Furnishes to every Creature j Whatsoe'er we feel and know Too sedate for
outward show, Such a light of gladness breaks, Pretty Kitten ! from thy freaks, ...
Till the foundations of the mountains fail My Mansion with its Arbour shall endure
; — The joy of them who till the fields of Swale, And them who dwell among the
woods of Ure !" Then home he went, and left the Hart, stone-dead, With
He lifts his head— he sees his staff; He touches — 'tis to him a treasure ! Faint
recollection seems to tell That he is yet where mortals dwell — A thought
received with languid pleasure ! r His head upon his elbow propped, Becoming
less and ...
Then, coming from the wayward world, That powerful world in which ye dwell.
Come, Spirits of the Mind! and try To-night, beneath the moonlight sky, What may
be done with Peter Bell ! — O, would that some more skilful voice, My further ...
And they that shall be of thee shall build the old waste places ; thou shall raise up
the foundations of many generations, and thou shalt be called the repairer of the
breach, the restorer of paths to dwell in." The Earl of Thanet, the present ...
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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.