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... then Have scored thine age, and punctually timed Thine infant history, on the
minds of those Who might have wandered with thee. — Mother's love, Nor less
than Mother's love in other breasts, Will, among us warm clad and warmly
Once up, once down the hill, one journey, Babe, That will suffice thee ; and it
seems that now Thou hast fore-knowledge that such task is thine ; Thou travell'st
so contentedly, and sleep'st In such a heedless peace. Alas ! full soon Hath this ...
Hath this conception, grateful to behold, Changed countenance, like an object
sullied o'er By breathing mist ; and thine appears to be A mournful labour, while
to her is given Hope — and a renovation without end. — That smile forbids the ...
Take thy flight ; — possess, inherit Alps or Andes — they are thine ! With the
morning's roseate spirit, Sweep their length of snowy line ; Or survey the bright
dominions In the gorgeous colours drest, Flung from off the purple pinions,
In vision exquisitely clear, Herds range along the mountain side ; And glistening
antlers are descried ; And gilded flocks appear. Thine is the tranquil hour,
purpureal Eve ! But long as god-like wish, or hope divine, Informs my spirit, ne'er
can I ...
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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.