The Waggoner, by William Wordsworth
Canto the First 'Tis spentthis burning day of ...
Canto the First 'Tis spentthis burning day of ...
No doubt thy little bosom beats
When sounds a ...
I The daughters of Mne Seraphim led round thei...
Little Fly,
Thy summer's play
My thoughtless...
Pity would be no more
If we did not make someb...
When the voices of children are heard on the gr...
The Argument I lovè d Theotormon,
An...
To Yuan Chen [A.D. 810] The flower of the pear...
A warrior bold,
In Ho Sai old;
Alas! But no...
Away! Away! My birds, fly westwards now,
To ...
In my garden dwells a stork,
Docile, coming ...
Alas! How precipitous! Alas! How high!
The roa...
Whence joyful harvests spring, what heav'nly s...
Thee too, great Pales, will I hymn, and thee...
Of air-born honey, gift of heaven, I now
Tak...
The tale of love Alphesiboeus sung
And Damon, ...
Perhaps you may of Priam's fate inquire.
He--w...
A wild-bear chase, didst never see?
Then hast...
Guest from a holier world,
O, tell me where ...
I KACELVEVO'S slope still felt
The cannon's b...
In the green darkness of a summer wood,
Where...
I thought of life
as though it were a space
w...
One sovereign holds indisputable sway!
Her lig...
Across the kitchen table a
bizarre mouth
ope...
I will; I will; the conflict's past,
And I'll...