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Where leafless Oaks towered high above, I sat within an undergrove Of tallest
hollies, tall and green ; A fairer bower was never seen. From year to year the
spacious floor With withered leaves is covered o'er, And all the year the bower is
William Wordsworth. IV. THE GREEN LINNET. Beneath these fruit-tree boughs
that shed Their snow-white blossoms on my head, With brightest sunshine round
me spread Of spring's unclouded weather, In this sequestered nook how sweet ...
Which, at this season, with their unripe fruits, Are clad in one green hue, and lose
themselves Among the woods and copses, nor disturb The wild green landscape.
Once again I see These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines Of sportive ...
Beneath the clear blue sky he saw A little field of meadow ground ; But field or
meadow name it not ; Call it of earth a small green plot, With rocks encompassed
round. The Swale flowed under the grey rocks, But he flowed quiet and unseen ...
And there, along a narrow dell, A fair smooth pathway you discern, A length of
green and open road — As if it from a fountain flowed — Winding away between
the fern. The rocks that tower on either side Build up a wild fantastic scene ...
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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.