William Wordsworth

And when a damp
Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand
The Thing became a read more

And when a damp
Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand
The Thing became a trumpet; whence he blew
Soul-animating strains--alas! too few.

List--'twas the cuckoo--O, with what delight
Heard I that voice! and catch it now, though faint,
Far read more

List--'twas the cuckoo--O, with what delight
Heard I that voice! and catch it now, though faint,
Far off and faint, and melting into air,
Yet not to be mistaken. Hark again!
Those louder cries give notice that the bird,
Although invisible as Echo's self,
Is wheeling hitherward.

Three sleepless nights I passed in sounding on,
Through words and things, a dim and perilous way.

Three sleepless nights I passed in sounding on,
Through words and things, a dim and perilous way.

I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds
With coldness still returning;
Alas! the gratitude of men
read more

I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds
With coldness still returning;
Alas! the gratitude of men
Hath often left me mourning.

Like an army defeated
The snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill
On read more

Like an army defeated
The snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill
On the top of the bare hill;
The Ploughboy is whooping--anon--anon!
There's joy in the mountains:
There's life in the fountains;
Small clouds are sailing,
Blue sky prevailing;
The rain is over and gone.