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... She could more infuse in me Than all Nature's beauties can In some other
wiser man." G. Withers. In youth from rock to rock I went, From hill to hill, in
discontent Of pleasure high and turbulent, Most pleased when most uneasy ; •
A whirl-blast from behind the hill Rushed o'er the wood with startling sound :
Then — all at once the air was still, And showers of hailstones pattered round.
Where leafless Oaks towered high above, I sat within an undergrove Of tallest
She looks, and her Heart is in heaven : but they fade, The mist and the river, the
hill and the shade : The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise, And the
colours have all passed away from her eyes. > XVI. POWER OF MUSIC. An
But then the beauteous Hill of moss Before their eyes began to stir ! And for full
fifty yards around, The grass, — it shook upon the ground ! But all do still aver
The little Babe is buried there, Beneath that Hill of moss so fair, I cannot tell how
Upon his side the Hart was lying stretched : His nostril touched a spring beneath
a hill, And with the last deep groan his breath had fetched The waters of the
spring were trembling still. And now, too happy for repose or rest, (Never had
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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.