romantics

  The Human Seasons Four Seasons fill the measure of the year;      There are four seasons in the mind of man: He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear      Takes in all beauty with an easy span: He has his Summer, when luxuriously      Spring's honied cud of youthful thought he loves To ruminate, and by such dreaming high      Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings      He furleth close; contented so to look On mists in idleness—to let fair things      Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook. He has his Winter too of pale misfeature, Or else he would forego his mortal nature.

  “ Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art” Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art—           Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night  And watching, with eternal lids apart,           Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,  The moving waters at their priestlike task           Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,  Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask           Of snow upon the mountains and the moors—  No—yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,           Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,  To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,           Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,  Still, still to hear her tender-taken breat...

Autumn Birds The wild duck startles like a sudden thought, And heron slow as if it might be caught. The flopping crows on weary wings go by And grey beard jackdaws noising as they fly. The crowds of starnels whizz and hurry by, And darken like a clod the evening sky. The larks like thunder rise and suthy round, Then drop and nestle in the stubble ground. The wild swan hurries hight and noises loud With white neck peering to the evening cloud. The weary rooks to distant woods are gone. With lengths of tail the magpie winnows on To neighbouring tree, and leaves the distant crow While small birds nestle in the edge below.

Summer Evening The frog half fearful jumps across the path, And little mouse that leaves its hole at eve Nimbles with timid dread beneath the swath; My rustling steps awhile their joys deceive, Till past,—and then the cricket sings more strong, And grasshoppers in merry moods still wear The short night weary with their fretting song. Up from behind the molehill jumps the hare, Cheat of his chosen bed, and from the bank The yellowhammer flutters in short fears From off its nest hid in the grasses rank, And drops again when no more noise it hears. Thus nature's human link and endless thrall, Proud man, still seems the enemy of all.

The Vixen Among the taller wood with ivy hung, The old fox plays and dances round her  young . She snuffs and barks if any passes by And swings her tail and turns prepared to fly. The horseman hurries by, she bolts to see, And turns agen, from  danger   never  free. If any stands she runs among the poles And barks and snaps and drive them in the holes. The shepherd sees them and the boy goes by And gets a stick and progs the hole to try. They get all still and lie in safety sure, And out again when everything's  secure , And  start  and snap at blackbirds bouncing by To  fight  and catch the  great   white   butterfly .

Autumn Birds The wild duck startles like a sudden thought,   And heron slow as if it might be caught.  The flopping crows on weary wings go by  And grey beard jackdaws noising as they fly.  The crowds of starnels whizz and hurry by,  And darken like a clod the evening sky.  The larks like thunder rise and suthy round,  Then drop and nestle in the stubble ground.  The wild swan hurries hight and noises loud  With white neck peering to the evening clowd.  The weary rooks to distant woods are gone.  With lengths of tail the magpie winnows on  To neighbouring tree, and leaves the distant crow  While small birds nestle in the edge below.

Composed upon Westminster Bridge,  September 3, 1802 Earth has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning; silent , bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky, All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did the sun more beautifully steep In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill; Ne'er saw I, never felt a calm so deep! T he river glideth at his own sweet will: Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still!

"Great men have been among us..." Great men have been among us; hands that penned And tongues that uttered wisdom--better none: The later Sidney, Marvel, Harrington, Young Vane, and others who called Milton friend. These moralists could act and comprehend: They knew how genuine glory was put on; Taught us how rightfully nation shone In splendour: what strength was, that would not bend But in magnanimous meekness. France, 'tis strange, Hath brought forth no such souls as we had then. Perpetual emptiness! unceasing change! No single volume paramount, no code, No master spirit, no determined road; But equally a want of books and men!