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Há 4 dias · Yes, It Was The Mountain Echo. Giving to her sound for sound! Like--but oh, how different! Hears not also mortal Life? Hear not we, unthinking Creatures! Voices of two different natures? Recognised intelligence! For of God ,--of God they are. YES, it was the mountain Echo, Solitary, clear, profound, Answering to the shouting Cuckoo, Giving to ...
Há 3 dias · Honour is hopeful elevation,--whence. Glory, and triumph. Yet with politic skill. Endangered States may yield to terms unjust; Stoop their proud heads, but not unto the dust --. A Foe's most favourite purpose to fulfil: Happy occasions oft by self-mistrust. Are forfeited; but infamy doth kill. William Wordsworth.
Há 4 dias · The Childless Father. 'Up, Timothy, up with your staff and away! And Skiddaw is glad with the cry of the hounds.'. The girls on the hills made a holiday show. One Child did it bear, and that Child was his last. The horse and the horn, and the hark! hark away! With a leisurely motion the door of his hut. 'The key I must take, for my Ellen is dead.'.
Há 1 dia · Ascending; they approach I hear their wings, Faint, faint at first; and then an eager sound, Past in a moment and as faint again! They tempt the sun to sport amid their plumes; They tempt the water, or the gleaming ice, To show them a fair image; 'tis themselves, Their own fair forms, upon the glimmering plain,
Há 2 dias · Flung back, and; in the sky's blue caves, reborn. On with your pastime! till the church-tower bells. A greeting give of measured glee; And milder echoes from their cells. Repeat the bridal symphony. Then, or far earlier, let us rove. Where mists are breaking up or gone, And from aloft look down into a cove.
Há 2 dias · Or whistling thro' thin grass along the unfurrowed plain. V. Long had he fancied each successive slope. Concealed some cottage, whither he might turn. And rest; but now along heaven 's darkening cope. The crows rushed by in eddies, homeward borne. Thus warned he sought some shepherd's spreading thorn.
Há 4 dias · The Brownie. "How disappeared he?" Ask the newt and toad; Ask of his fellow-men, and they will tell. How he was found, cold as an icicle, Under an arch of that forlorn abode; Where he, unpropped, and by the gathering flood. Of years hemmed round, had dwelt, prepared to try. Privation's worst extremities, and die.
