XI. Written at Ostend

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1. Sonnet: At Ostend, July 22nd 1787 How sweet the tuneful bells’ responsive peal! As when, at opening morn, the fragrant breeze Breathes on the trembling sense of wan disease, So piercing to my heart their force I feel! And hark! with lessening cadence now they fall, And now, along the white and level tide, They fling their melancholy music wide, Bidding […]...
2. Lines Written by the Side of a River FLOW soft RIVER, gently stray, Still a silent waving tide O’er thy glitt’ring carpet glide, While I chaunt my ROUNDELAY, As I gather from thy bank, Shelter’d by the poplar dank, King-cups, deck’d in golden pride, Harebells sweet, and daisies pied; While beneath the evening sky, Soft the western breezes fly. Gentle RIVER, should’st thou […]...
3. Written On A Blank Space At The End Of Chaucer's Tale Of The Flowre And The Lefe This pleasant tale is like a little copse: The honied lines so freshly interlace, To keep the reader in so sweet a place, So that he here and there full-hearted stops; And oftentimes he feels the dewy drops Come cool and suddenly against his face, And, by the wandering melody, may trace Which way the […]...
4. To The River Otter Dear native brook! wild streamlet of the West! How many various-fated years have passed, What happy and what mournful hours, since last I skimmed the smooth thin stone along thy breast, Numbering its light leaps! Yet so deep impressed Sink the sweet scenes of childhood, that mine eyes I never shut amid the sunny ray, […]...
5. Sonnet To the River Otter Dear native Brook! wild Streamlet of the West! How many various-fated years have past, What happy and what mournful hours, since last I skimm’d the smooth thin stone along thy breast, Numbering its light leaps! yet so deep imprest Sink the sweet scenes of childhood, that mine eyes I never shut […]...
6. Lines Written In Dejection When have I last looked on The round green eyes and the long wavering bodies Of the dark leopards of the moon? All the wild witches, those most noble ladies, For all their broom-sticks and their tears, Their angry tears, are gone. The holy centaurs of the hills are vanished; I have nothing but the […]...
7. Unknown Bird Out of the dry days Through the dusty leaves Far across the valley Those few notes never Heard here before One fluted phrase Floating over its Wandering secret All at once wells up Somewhere else And is gone before it Goes on fallen into Its own echo leaving A hollow through the air That is […]...
8. Lines Written In Early Spring I heard a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man. Through […]...
9. XII. Written at a Convent IF chance some pensive stranger, hither led, His bosom glowing from majestic views, The gorgeous dome, or the proud landscape’s hues, Should ask who sleeps beneath this lowly bed ‘Tis poor Matilda! To the cloister’d scene, A mourner, beauteous and unknown, she came, To shed her tears unseen; and quench the flame Of fruitless love: […]...
10. Lines Written Beneath An Elm In The Churchyard Of Harrow Spot of my youth! whose hoary branches sigh, Swept by the breeze that fans thy cloudless sky; Where now alone I muse, who oft have trod, With those I loved, thy soft and verdant sod; With those who, scattered far, perchance deplore, Like me, the happy scenes they knew before: Oh! as I trace again […]...
11. Lines Written at Thorp Green That summer sun, whose genial glow Now cheers my drooping spirit so Must cold and distant be, And only light our northern clime With feeble ray, before the time I long so much to see. And this soft whispering breeze that now So gently cools my fevered brow, This too, alas, must turn To a […]...
12. Sonnet 06 (to a brook near the village of Corston.) As thus I bend me o’er thy babbling stream And watch thy current, Memory’s hand pourtrays The faint form’d scenes of the departed days, Like the far forest by the moon’s pale beam Dimly descried yet lovely. I have worn Upon thy banks the live-long hour away, […]...
13. Written in a Volume of the Comtesse de Noailles Be my companion under cool arcades That frame some drowsy street and dazzling square Beyond whose flowers and palm-tree promenades White belfries burn in the blue tropic air. Lie near me in dim forests where the croon Of wood-doves sounds and moss-banked water flows, Or musing late till the midsummer moon Breaks through some ruined […]...
14. The Things that never can come back, are several The Things that never can come back, are several Childhood some forms of Hope the Dead Though Joys like Men may sometimes make a Journey And still abide We do not mourn for Traveler, or Sailor, Their Routes are fair But think enlarged of all that they will tell us Returning here “Here!” There are […]...
15. Ode Written On The First Of January Come melancholy Moralizer come! Gather with me the dark and wintry wreath; With me engarland now The SEPULCHRE OF TIME! Come Moralizer to the funeral song! I pour the dirge of the Departed Days, For well the funeral song Befits this solemn hour. But hark! even now the merry bells ring round With clamorous joy […]...
16. Mercian Hymns XXV Brooding on the eightieth letter of Fors Clavigera, I speak this in Memory of my grandmother, whose childhood and prime womanhood were spent In the nailer’s darg. The nailshop stood back of the cottage, by the fold. It reeked stale Mineral sweat. Sparks had furred its low roof. In dawn-light the Troughed water floated a […]...
17. Stanzas Written On The Road Between Florence And Pisa Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story; The days of our youth are the days of our glory; And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty. What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled? ‘Tis but as a dead […]...
18. The house where I was born (09) And then the day came When I heard the extraordinary lines in Keats, The evocation of Ruth “when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn.” I did not need to search for the meaning Of these words, For it was in me since childhood, I had only to recognize and to […]...
19. THE MAGIC WAND Bhaskar Roy Barman Once in my childhood I watched mesmerized a magician Magic everything away from before my eyes And thought he had descended, endowed with supernatural power, From a fairyland where illusions reigned supreme To transport us into the world of illusions. I got thrilled at the flying of a pigeon away From under […]...
20. 372. Song-Kellyburn Braes THERE lived a carl in Kellyburn Braes, Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme; And he had a wife was the plague of his days, And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime. Ae day as the carl gaed up the lang glen, Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme; […]...
21. Eudaemon O happiness, I know not what far seas, Blue hills and deep, thy sunny realms surround, That thus in Music’s wistful harmonies And concert of sweet sound A rumor steals, from some uncertain shore, Of lovely things outworn or gladness yet in store: Whether thy beams be pitiful and come, Across the sundering of vanished […]...
22. 183. Verses Written with a Pencil at the Inn at Kenmore ADMIRING Nature in her wildest grace, These northern scenes with weary feet I trace; O’er many a winding dale and painful steep, Th’ abodes of covey’d grouse and timid sheep, My savage journey, curious, I pursue, Till fam’d Breadalbane opens to my view.- The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides, The woods wild scatter’d, clothe […]...
23. Written On Sunday Morning Go thou and seek the House of Prayer! I to the Woodlands wend, and there In lovely Nature see the GOD OF LOVE. The swelling organ’s peal Wakes not my soul to zeal, Like the wild music of the wind-swept grove. The gorgeous altar and the mystic vest Rouse not such ardor in my breast, […]...
24. Lines Written Among The Euganean Hills Many a green isle needs must be In the deep wide sea of Misery, Or the mariner, worn and wan, Never thus could voyage on – Day and night, and night and day, Drifting on his dreary way, With the solid darkness black Closing round his vessel’s track: Whilst above the sunless sky, Big with […]...
25. 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 bound In some blind spell: seeing that each one tears Himself from fireside joys and Lydian airs, And converse high of […]...
26. A Child's Laughter ALL the bells of heaven may ring, All the birds of heaven may sing, All the wells on earth may spring, All the winds on earth may bring All sweet sounds together – Sweeter far than all things heard, Hand of harper, tone of bird, Sound of woods at sundawn stirred, Welling water’s winsome word, […]...
27. Psalm 22 Christ’s sufferings and exaltation. Now let our mournful songs record The dying sorrows of our Lord, When he complained in tears and blood, As one forsaken of his God. The Jews beheld him thus forlorn, And shake their heads, and laugh in scorn: “He rescued others from the grave; Now let him try himself to […]...
28. Written Before Re-Reading King Lear O golden-tongued Romance with serene lute! Fair plumed Syren! Queen of far away! Leave melodizing on this wintry day, Shut up thine olden pages, and be mute. Adieu! for once again the fierce dispute Betwixt damnation and impassioned clay Must I burn through; once more humbly assay The bitter-sweet of this Shakespearian fruit. Chief Poet! […]...
29. Written near a Port on a Dark Evening Huge vapours brood above the clifted shore, Night on the ocean settles dark and mute, Save where is heard the repercussive roar Of drowsy billows on the rugged foot Of rocks remote; or still more distant tone Of seamen in the anchored bark that tell The watch relieved; or one deep voice alone Singing the […]...
30. I Heard You, Solemn-sweet Pipes of the Organ I HEARD you, solemn-sweet pipes of the organ, as last Sunday morn I pass’d the church; Winds of autumn!-as I walk’d the woods at dusk, I heard your long-stretch’d sighs, up above, so mournful; I heard the perfect Italian tenor, singing at the opera-I heard the soprano in the midst of the quartet singing; … […]...
31. Written After Swimming From Sestos To Abydos If, in the month of dark December, Leander, who was nightly wont (What maid will not the tale remember?) To cross thy stream, broad Hellespont! If, when the wintry tempest roared, He sped to Hero, nothing loath, And thus of old thy current poured, Fair Venus! how I pity both! For me, degenerate modern wretch, […]...
32. Written On The Day That Mr Leigh Hunt Left Prison What though, for showing truth to flattered state, Kind Hunt was shut in prison, yet has he, In his immortal spirit, been as free As the sky-searching lark, and as elate. Minion of grandeur! think you he did wait? Think you he nought but prison-walls did see, Till, so unwilling, thou unturnedst the key? Ah, […]...
33. Sonnet: Languid, And Sad, And Slow, From Day To Day Languid, and sad, and slow, from day to day I journey on, yet pensive turn to view (Where the rich landscape gleams with softer hue) The streams and vales, and hills, that steal away. So fares it with the children of the earth: For when life’s goodly prospect opens round, Their spirits beat to tread […]...
34. Christmas treasures I count my treasures o’er with care. The little toy my darling knew, A little sock of faded hue, A little lock of golden hair. Long years ago this holy time, My little one my all to me Sat robed in white upon my knee And heard the merry Christmas chime. “Tell me, my little […]...
35. II. Written at Bamborough Castle YE holy tow’rs, that crown the azure deep, Still may ye shade the wave-worn rock sublime, Though, hurrying silent by, relentless Time Assail you, and the winter Whirlwind’s sweep! For far from blazing Grandeur’s crowded halls, Here Charity hath fix’d her chosen seat, Oft listening tearful when the wild winds beat, With hollow bodings, round […]...
36. Mont Blanc: Lines Written in the Vale of Chamouni I The everlasting universe of things Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves, Now dark now glittering now reflecting gloom Now lending splendour, where from secret springs The source of human thought its tribute brings Of waters with a sound but half its own, Such as a feeble brook will oft assume, In […]...
37. I. Written at Tinemouth, Northumberland, after a Tempestuous Voyage AS slow I climb the cliff’s ascending side, Much musing on the track of terror past When o’er the dark wave rode the howling blast Pleas’d I look back, and view the tranquil tide, That laves the pebbled shore; and now the beam Of evening smiles on the grey battlement, And yon forsaken tow’r, that […]...
38. To Virgil, Written at the Request of the Mantuans for the N Roman Virgil, thou that singest Ilion’s lofty temples robed in fire, Ilion falling, Rome arising, Wars, and filial faith, and Dido’s pyre; Landscape-lover, lord of language More than he that sang the “Works and Days,” All the chosen coin of fancy Flashing out from many a golden phrase; Thou that singest wheat and woodland, Tilth […]...
39. Weariness WHERE are now the dreams divine, Fires that lit the dawning soul, As the ruddy colours shine Through an opal aureole? Moving in a joyous trance, We were like the forest glooms Rumorous of old romance, Fraught with unimagined dooms. Titans we or morning stars, So we seemed in days of old, Mingling in the […]...
40. 199. Song-My Peggy's Charms MY Peggy’s face, my Peggy’s form, The frost of hermit Age might warm; My Peggy’s worth, my Peggy’s mind, Might charm the first of human kind. I love my Peggy’s angel air, Her face so truly heavenly fair, Her native grace, so void of art, But I adore my Peggy’s heart. The lily’s hue, the […]...