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On The Departure Of Sir Walter Scott From Abbotsford, By: William Wordsworth
A trouble, not of clouds, or weeping rain,Nor of the setting sun’s pathetic lightEngendered, hangs o’er Eildon’s triple height:Spirits of Power, assembled there, complainFor 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 mightOf the whole world’s…
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On The Banks Of A Rocky Stream, By: William Wordsworth
Behold an emblem of our human mindCrowded with thoughts that need a settled home,Yet, like to eddying balls of foamWithin this whirlpool, they each other chaseRound and round,…
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Dopamine, By: Sunil Sharma
Yellow Warblersdescribearcs in the mildbreeze of June. Circles ofsheer delightexecuted in theskywith aplomb; a blue, clear, cloudlessregionof freedomfor thesoaring ones, the happy soulson wings and fire, the rolling…
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On Seeing A Tuft Of Snowdrops In A Storm, By: William Wordsworth
When haughty expectations prostrate lie,And grandeur crouches like a guilty thing,Oft shall the lowly weak, till nature bringMature release, in fair societySurvive,…
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I See You, By: Steven Mcdonald
I see you in the fogI see you in the grassI concentrate on meAnd then the moment passed I see you in…
On Seeing A Needlecase In The Form Of A Harp – The Work Of E.M.S., By: William Wordsworth
Frowns are on every Muse’s face,Reproaches from their lips are sent,That mimicry should thus disgraceThe noble Instrument. A very Harp in all…
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