written by William Wordsworth.A trouble, not of clouds, or weeping rain,
Nor of the setting sun's pathetic light
Engendered, hangs o'er Eildon's triple height:
Spirits of Power, assembled there, complain
For kindred Power departing from their sight;
While Tweed, best pleased in chanting a blithe strain,
Saddens his voice again, and yet again.
Lift up your hearts, ye Mourners! for the might
Of the whole world's good wishes with him goes;
Blessings and prayers in nobler retinue
Than sceptred king or laurelled conqueror knows,
Follow this wondrous Potentate. Be true,
Ye winds of ocean, and the midland sea,
Wafting your Charge to soft Parthenope!
William Wordsworth
written by William Wordsworth, published on Sat 01.22.2011 at 09:44
Let us quit the leafy arbor,
And the torrent murmuring by;
For the sun is in his harbor,
Weary of the open sky.
written by William Wordsworth, published on Sat 01.22.2011 at 06:00
WHILE from the purpling east departs
The star that led the dawn,
Blithe Flora from her couch upstarts,
For May is on the lawn.
written by William Wordsworth, published on Fri 01.21.2011 at 19:42
The peace which other seek they find;
The heaviest storms not longet last;
Heaven grants even to the guiltiest mind
written by William Wordsworth, published on Fri 01.21.2011 at 19:27
A narrow girdle of rough stones and crags,
A rude and natural causeway, interposed
Between the water and a winding slope
written by William Wordsworth, published on Sun 01.16.2011 at 13:51
I know an aged Man constrained to dwell
In a large house of public charity,
Where he abides, as in a Prisoner's cell,
written by William Wordsworth, published on Thu 01.06.2011 at 17:46
Though the torrents from their fountains
Roar down many a craggy steep,
Yet they find among the mountains
