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So down thy hill, romantic Ashbourne, glides The Derby dilly, carrying three insides.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.
1770-1850.
_Quilt and Sorrow_.
St. 41.
And homeless near a thousand homes I stood, And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.
_My Heart Leaps up_.
The Child is father of the Man.
_Lucy Gray_.
St. 2.
The sweetest thing that ever grew Beside a human door.
_We are Seven_.
A simple Child, That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death?
_The Pet Lamb_.
Drink, pretty creature, drink.
_The Brothers_.
Until a man might travel twelve stout miles, Or reap an acre of his neighbor's corn.
_Stanzas written in Thomson_.
A noticeable man, with large gray eyes.
_Lucy_.
She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A maid whom there were none to praise, And very few to love: A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye!
Fair as a star, when only one Is s.h.i.+ning in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and oh!
The difference to me!
_The Solitary Reaper_.
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again.
The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.
_Rob Hoy's Grave_.
St. 9.
Because the good old rule Sufficeth them, the simple plan, That they should take who have the power, And they should keep who can.
_Yarrow Unvisited_.
The swan on still St. Mary's Lake Float double, swan and shadow!
_Sonnets to National Independence and Liberty_.
Part i. vi
