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With bowl in hand, (It may not stand) Gladdest of the gladsome band, Amid their
own delight and fun, They hear — when every dance is done — They hear —
when every fit is o'er — The fiddle's squeak* — that call to bliss, Ever followed t
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
Hear not we, unthinking Creatures !Slaves of Folly, Love, or Strife, Voices of two
different Natures ? Have not We too ? — Yes we have Answers, and we know not
whence ; Echoes from beyond the grave, Recognized intelligence ? Such within
Have we not known — and live we not to tell — That Justice seemed to hear her
final knell ? Faith buried deeper in her own deep breast Her stores — and sighed
to find them insecure ! And Hope was maddened by the drops that fell From ...
Five years have passed; five summers, with the length Of five long winters ! and
again I hear These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs With a sweet
inland murmur. * — Once again Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs, Which on
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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.