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Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820 – XXI. – On Hearing The “Ranz Des Vaches” On The Top Of The Pass Of St. Gothard, By: William Wordsworth
I listen, but no faculty of mineAvails those modulations to detect,Which, heard in foreign lands, the Swiss affectWith tenderest passion; leaving him to pine(So fame reports) and die, his sweet-breathed kineRemembering, and green Alpine pastures deckedWith vernal flowers. Yet may we not rejectThe tale as fabulous. Here while I recline,Mindful how others by this simple…
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A Holy Hint, By: Geoffrey Heptonstall
To say how is my lovewill you fly to heron silken wings,bird of silver songwith your sweet tongue. One or two or three thingsare never easy to find:counting the stars…
The Button Is Pressed, By: Ramses Martin
heat is starting, got meout hereburningfurnishingout of a terrorpraise to my one Terra.as I move past these degreesI see the charm -that of a feather. Sonic be whereI’m…
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Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820 – XVIII. – Our Lady Of The Snow, By: William Wordsworth
Meek Virgin Mother, more benignThan fairest Star, upon the heightOf thy own mountain, set to keepLone vigils through the hours of sleep,What…
Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820 – XVII. – Engelberg, The Hill Of Angels, By: William Wordsworth
For gentlest uses, oft-times Nature takesThe work of Fancy from her willing hands;And such a beautiful creation makesAs renders needless spells and…
Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820 – XVI. – Scene On The Lake Of Brientz, By: William Wordsworth
“What know we of the Blest aboveBut that they sing and that they love?”Yet, if they ever did inspireA mortal hymn, or…