Стихи и рассказы из категории written

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Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art --Not in lone splendour hung aloft the
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priest-like
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The cock is crowing, The stream is flowing, The small birds twitter, The lake doth glitter The green field sleeps in the sun; The oldest and youngest Are at work with the strongest; The cattle are grazing, Their heads never raising;
There are...
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I
The everlasting universe of things Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves, Now dark—now glittering--now reflecting gloom-- Now lending splendour, where from secret springs The source of human thought its tribute brings Of waters-...
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How I hail this morn's appearing
It will thee, my love, restore:
Safety danger past endearing,    Sure we meet to part no more
Fame is thine, lo
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Huzza
Hodgson, we are going, Our embargo's off at last; Favourable breezes blowing Bend the canvass o'er the mast
From aloft the signal's streaming, Hark
the farewell gun is fir'd; Women screeching, tars blaspheming, Tell us that ou...
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What means that wild and joyful cry
Why do yon crowds in mean attire Throw thus their ragged arms on high
In want what can such joy inspire
And why on every face I meet Now beams a smile, now drops a tear
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Huge vapours brood above the clifted shore,
Night on the ocean settles dark and mute,
Save where is heard the repercussive roar Of drowsy billows on the rugged foot Of rocks remote; or still more distant tone Of seamen in the anchored ba...
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A sunny day's complete
Divide it from itself
It is this or
And it is not
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That summer sun, whose genial
Now cheers my drooping spirit
Must cold and distant be,
And only light our northern
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In this lone, open glade I lie,
Screen'd by deep boughs on either hand;
And at its end, to stay the eye,
Those black-crown'd, red-boled pine-trees stand
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I
The sun is warm, the sky is clear,
The waves are dancing fast and bright,
Blue isles and snowy mountains wear The purple noon's transparent might,
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No crooked leg, no bleared eye,
No part deformed out of kind,
Nor yet so ugly half can
As is the inward suspicious mind
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Ask not, whence springs my ceaseless sadness,
But let me still the secret keep:
Ask not, why thus in restless
Pass the long hours once given to sleep:
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I
RD a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant
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Hail to thy pencil
well its glowing
Has traced those features painted on my heart;
Now, though in distant scenes she soon will rove,
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All hail, once pleasing, once inspiring shade
Scene of my youthful loves and happier hours
Where the kind Muses met me as I stray'd,
And gently press'd my hand, and said "Be ours
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