Oh heart! oh, blood that freezes, blood that burns!
For whole centuries of folly,
noise and sin!
Shut them in,
With their triumphs and their glories and the rest.
Love is best!
THIS is a spray the Bird clung to,
Making it blossom with pleasure,
Ere the high tree-top she
Fit for her nest and her treasure.
O, what a hope beyond measure
Was the poor sprays, which
the flying feet hung to,
So to be singled out, built in, and sung to!
This is a heart the Queen leant on,
Thrilld in a minute erratic,
Ere the true bosom she bent
Meet for loves regal dalmatic.
O, what a fancy ecstatic
Was the poor hearts, ere the wanderer went
Love to be saved for it, profferd to, spent on!
O TO be in England
Now that Aprils there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
And after April, when May follows,
And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows!
where my blossomd pear-tree in the hedge
Leans to the field and scatters on the clover
dewdropsat the bent sprays edge
Thats the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture!
And though the fields look rough
with hoary dew,
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little childrens dower
brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!
NOBLY, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the North-west
Sunset ran, one glorious blood-
red, reeking into Cadiz Bay;
Bluish mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay;
In the dimmest North-
east distance dawnd Gibraltar grand
Here and here did England help me: how can I help Eng-
turns as I, this evening, turn to God to praise and
While Joves planet rises yonder,
silent over Africa.
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