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'And Matthew, for thy children dead
At this he grasp'd my hand and said,
-We rose up from the fountain-side;
Of the green sheep-track did we glide;
And ere we came to Leonard's rock
About the crazy old church-clock,
THE RIVER OF LIFE
The more we live, more brief appear
The gladsome current of our youth,
Steals lingering like a river smooth
But as the care-worn cheek grows wan,
Ye Stars, that measure life to man,
Why seem your courses quicker?
When joys have lost their bloom and breath
Why, as we reach the Falls of Death
It may be strange-yet who would change
When one by one our friends have gone
Heaven gives our years of fading strength
And those of youth, a seeming length,
THE HUMAN SEASONS
Four Seasons fill the measure of the year;
His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings
Rough wind, that moanest loud
Sad storm whose tears are vain,
O World! O Life! O Time!
On whose last steps I climb,
Trembling at that where I had stood before;
Out of the day and night
A joy has taken flight:
Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight No more Oh, never more!
P. B. Shelley
There's not a nook within this solemn Pass,
Taught by his summer spent, his autumn gone,
5 Wither'd at eve. From scenes of art which chase That thought away, turn, and with watchful eyes Feed it 'mid Nature's old felicities,
Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glass Untouch'd, unbreathed upon:-Thrice happy quest, 10 If from a golden perch of aspen spray
(October's workmanship to rival May),
My heart leaps up when I behold
The Child is father of the Man:
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.
ODE ON INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD
There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
To me did seem
5 The glory and the freshness of a dream.
By night or day,
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
The rainbow comes and goes,
And lovely is the rose;
The moon doth with delight
Look round her when the heavens are bare;
Are beautiful and fair;
The sunshine is a glorious birth;
But yet I know, where'er I go,
That there hath past away a glory from the earth.
Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song.
And while the young lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound,
To me alone there came a thought of grief:
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep:—
Land and sea
Give themselves up to jollity.
And with the heart of May
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy
15 Ye blessed Creatures. I have heard the call
Ye to each other make; I see
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee;
My head hath its coronal,
20 The fulness of your bliss, I feel-I feel it all.
This sweet May-morning;
And the children are culling
In a thousand valleys far and wide,
Doth the same tale repeat:
And cometh from afar;