In Drear-Nighted December
In drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy tree, Thy branches ne’er remember Their green felicity: The north cannot undo them With a sleety whistle through them; Nor frozen thawings glue them From budding at the
Written On A Summer Evening
The church bells toll a melancholy round, Calling the people to some other prayers, Some other gloominess, more dreadful cares, More harkening to the sermon’s horrid sound. Surely the mind of man is closely
To G. A. W
Nymph of the downward smile and sidelong glance! In what diviner moments of the day Art thou most lovely?-when gone far astray Into the labyrinths of sweet utterance, Or when serenely wandering in a
To John Hamilton Reynolds
O that a week could be an age, and we Felt parting and warm meeting every week, Then one poor year a thousand years would be, The flush of welcome ever on the cheek:
The Human Seasons
Four Seasons fill the measure of the year; There are four seasons in the mind of man: He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear Takes in all beauty with an easy span: He
A Thing of Beauty (Endymion)
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its lovliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams,
On First Looking Into Chapman's Homer
Much have I travell’d in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide
To Haydon
Haydon! forgive me that I cannot speak Definitively of these mighty things; Forgive me, that I have not eagle’s wings, That what I want I know not where to seek, And think that I
Ode to Fanny
Physician Nature! Let my spirit blood! O ease my heart of verse and let me rest; Throw me upon thy Tripod, till the flood Of stifling numbers ebbs from my full breast. A theme!
To Fanny
I cry your mercy-pity-love!-aye, love! Merciful love that tantalizes not, One-thoughted, never-wandering, guileless love, Unmasked, and being seen-without a blot! O! let me have thee whole,-all-all-be mine! That shape, that fairness, that sweet minor
O Solitude! If I Must With Thee Dwell
O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell, Let it not be among the jumbled heap Of murky buildings: climb with me the steep,- Nature’s observatory-whence the dell, In flowery slopes, its river’s crystal
On The Grasshopper And Cricket
The poetry of earth is never dead: When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
Keen, Fitful Gusts are Whisp'ring Here and There
Keen, fitful gusts are whisp’ring here and there Among the bushes half leafless, and dry; The stars look very cold about the sky, And I have many miles on foot to fare. Yet feel
Happy Is England! I Could Be Content
Happy is England! I could be content To see no other verdure than its own; To feel no other breezes than are blown Through its tall woods with high romances blent; Yet do I
To One Who Has Been Long In City Pent
To one who has been long in city pent, ‘Tis very sweet to look into the fair And open face of heaven, to breathe a prayer Full in the smile of the blue firmament.