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... 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
The trees were gray, with neither arms nor head ; Half-wasted the square Mound
of tawny green ; So that you just might say, as then I said, " Here in old time the
hand of man hath been." I looked upon the hill both far and near, More 222 ...
His head is with a halter bound ; The halter seizing, Peter leapt Upon the Ass's
back, and plied, With ready heel, the creature's side ; But still the Ass his station
kept. " What's this !" cried Peter, brandishing A new-peeled sapling PART I.
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 ...
His head upon his elbow propped, Becoming less and less perplexed, Sky-ward
he looks — to rock and wood — And then — upon the placid flood His wandering
eye is fixed. Thought he, that is the face of one In his last sleep securely bound !
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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.