I sought for Novelty--in vain I searched the stores of Nature through:
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Evermore the night wave beateth on, Heavily dashing up the pebbled shore;
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I had the sweetest dream but yesternight About the lady of my love:
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``Father, wake--the storm is loud, The rain is falling fast:
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Thou little flower, that on thy stem Totterest as the breezes blow;
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The cowslip standeth in the grass, The primrose in the budding grove
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Thou child of Man, fall down With contrite heart and low;
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Again those heavy tidings. On the breeze Laden with death, they come. A thousand more
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Leave love, leave life:-our moments are made up Of fragments of desire: O that with thee
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I know not how the right may be:-- But I give thanks whene'er I see
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The night that is now past hath been to me A time of wakeful, sleepful fancies: oft
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Hail to the woods once more! Hail blessed burst of the spring tide! Float over fathomless blue the fair white clouds on the zenith:
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Saviour of them that trust in Thee, Once more, with supplicating cries,
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This to Hale in the West, from the Dean beneath his Cathedral. Greeting and health, and many New--year and Christmas blessings;
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We looked into the silent sky, We gazed upon thee, lovely Moon;
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Methinks I can remember, when a shade All soft and flowery was my couch, and I
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MOTHER. So thou hast brought thy bosom full of daisies And gilded celandine. There, pour them forth--
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The golden stars keep watch aloft; Unmarked the moments glide along,
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He was a blessed father; and he taught Us, his four children (for in that my day
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Far on the sloping casement from the East Looks through the frosted haze the purple sun,
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Would it were mine amidst the changes Through which our varied lifetime ranges,
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I have a longing to be free; The soul that in me hides
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Freed from the womb, and from the bounds With which the stepdame infancy
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There is a wood, not far from where I pass My unrecorded hours in pleasant toil;--
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I stand upon the margin of our level lake; The daylight from the west is fading fast away;
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When the thing thou lovest is not one That thou canst beg a blessing on;
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The calm of blessed Night Is on Judaea's hills;
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In the bright summer weather We twain will go together,
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There was a child, bright as the summer prime, Fair as a flower. Not long his speaking eyes
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I go to the region of dreams, Where a veil is drawn o'er the bright day--beams,
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