Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids:
So I love to wake ere break of day :
For though my sleep be gone,

Yet while 'tis dark, one shuts one's lids,
And still dreams on.



"TIS sweet to him, who all the week
Through city-crowds must push his way,
To stroll alone through fields and woods,
*And hallow thus the Sabbath-day.

And sweet it is, in summer bower,
Sincere, affectionate and gay,
One's own dear children feasting round,
To celebrate one's marriage-day.

But what is all, to his delight,

Who having long been doomed to roam,
Throws off the bundle from his back,
Before the door of his own home?

Home-sickness is a wasting pang ;

This feel I hourly more and more :
There's healing only in thy wings,

Thou Breeze that play'st on Albion's shore !


Do you ask what the birds say? The sparrow, the dove,
The linnet and thrush say, "I love and I love!".
In the winter they're silent-the wind is so strong:
What it says, I don't know, but it sings a loud song.
But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny warm weather,
And singing, and loving-all come back together.

But the lark is so brimful of gladness and love,
The green fields below him, the blue sky above,

That he sings, and he sings; and forever sings he—

"I love my Love, and my Love loves me !"


ERE on my bed my limbs I lay,

God grant me grace my prayers to say:
O God! preserve my mother dear

In strength and health for many a year;
And, O! preserve my father too,
And may I pay him reverence due ;
And may I my best thoughts employ
To be my parents' hope and joy ;
And, O! preserve my brothers both
From evil doings and from sloth,
And may we always love each other,
Our friends, our father, and our mother :
And still, O Lord, to me impart,
An innocent and grateful heart,
That after my last sleep I may
Awake to thy eternal day!



SAD lot, to have no hope! Though lowly kneeling
He fain would frame a prayer within his breast,
Would fain entreat for some sweet breath of healing,
That his sick body might have ease and rest;

He strove in vain! the dull sighs from his chest
Against his will the stifling load revealing,

Though Nature forced; though like some captive guest,
Some royal prisoner at his conqueror's feast,
An alien's restless mood but half concealing,
The sternness on his gentle brow confessed,
Sickness within and miserable feeling:

Though obscure pangs made curses of his dreams,
And dreaded sleep, each night repelled in vain,
Each night was scattered by its own loud screams:
Yet never could his heart command, though fain,
One deep full wish to be no more in pain.

That Hope, which was his inward bliss and boast, Which waned and died, yet ever near him stood, Though changed in nature, wander where he wouldFor Love's despair is but Hope's pining ghost! For this one hope he makes his hourly moan, He wishes and can wish for this alone!

Pierced, as with light from Heaven, before its gleams (So the love-stricken visionary deems)

Disease would vanish, like a summer shower,

Whose dews fling sunshine from the noontide bower!
Or let it stay! yet this one Hope should give
Such strength that he would bless his pains and live.


OFT, oft methinks, the while with Thee
I breathe, as from the heart, thy dear
And dedicated name, I hear

A promise and a mystery,

A pledge of more than passing life,
Yea, in that very name of Wife!

A pulse of love, that ne'er can sleep!
A feeling that upbraids the heart
With happiness beyond desert,
That gladness half requests to weep!
Nor bless I not the keener sense
And unalarming turbulence

Of transient joys that ask no sting

From jealous fears, or coy denying;

But born beneath Love's brooding wing,

And into tenderness soon dying,

Wheel out their giddy moment, then
Resign the soul to love again;

A more precipitated vein,

Of notes, that eddy in the flow

Of smoothest song, they come, they go,
And leave their sweeter understrain
Its own sweet self-a love of Thee
That seems, yet can not greater be !



How warm this woodland wild Recess !
Love surely hath been breathing here;
And this sweet bed of heath, my dear!
Swells up, then sinks with faint caress,
As if to have you yet more near.


Eight springs have flown, since last I lay On seaward Quantock's heathy hills, Where quiet sounds from hidden rills Float here and there, like things astray, And high o'er head the sky-lark shrills.


No voice as yet had made the air
Be music with your name; yet why
That asking look? that yearning sigh?
That sense of promise everywhere?
Beloved! flew your spirit by?


As when a mother doth explore
The rose-mark on her long lost child,
I met, I loved you, maiden mild !
As whom I long had loved before-
So deeply, had I been beguiled.


You stood before me like a thought,

A dream remembered in a dream. But when those meek eyes first did seem To tell me, Love within you wroughtO Greta, dear domestic stream!


Has not, since then, Love's prompture deep, Has not Love's whisper evermore

Been ceaseless as thy gentle roar?
Sole voice, when other voices sleep,
Dear under-song in clamor's hour.



GOD be with thee, gladsome ocean!
How gladly greet I thee once more!
Ships and waves, and ceaseless motion,
And men rejoicing on thy shore.

Dissuading spake the mild physician,

"Those briny waves for thee are death!" But my soul fulfilled her mission,

And lo! I breathe untroubled breath!

Fashion's pining sons and daughters,
That seek the crowd they seem to fly,
Trembling they approach thy waters ;
And what cares Nature, if they die ?

Me a thousand hopes and pleasures,
A thousand recollections bland,
Thoughts sublime, and stately measures,
Revisit on thy echoing strand:

Dreams, (the soul herself forsaking,)
Tearful raptures, boyish mirth;
Silent adorations, making

A blessed shadow of this Earth!

O ye hopes, that stir within me,
Health comes with you from above!
God is with me, God is in me!

I can not die, if Life be Love.

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