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There's a Cripple who leans on his Crutch ; like a Tower That long has leaned
forward, leans hour after hour ! — A Mother, whose Spirit in fetters is bound,
While she dandles the babe in her arms to the sound. Now, Coaches and
Twelve hours, twelve bounteous hours, are gone while I Have been a Traveller
under open sky, Much witnessing of ... God The glorious path in which he trod,
And now, ascending, after one dark hour, And one night's i 6 179 Gipsies - 1807.
... by Nature, for repose Of panting Wood-nymph weary of the chace. O Lady !
fairer in thy Poet's sight Than fairest spiritual Creature of the groves, Approach —
and, thus invited, crown with rest The noon-tide hour : — though truly some there
Close to the thorn on which Sir Walter leaned, Stood his dumb partner in this
glorious feat ; Weak as a lamb the hour that it is yeaned ; And white with foam as
if with cleaving sleet. Upon his side the Hart was lying stretched : His nostril
How glad is Skipton at this hour — Though she is but a lonely Tower ! To vacancy
and silence left ; Of all her guardian sons bereft — Knight, Squire, or Yeoman,
Page or Groom ; We have them at the Feast of Brough'm. How glad Pendragon ...
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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.