Robert Southey

It is with words as with sunbeams--the more they are condensed, the deeper they burn.

It is with words as with sunbeams--the more they are condensed, the deeper they burn.

The solitary Bee
Whose buzzing was the only sound of life,
Flew there on restless wing,
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The solitary Bee
Whose buzzing was the only sound of life,
Flew there on restless wing,
Seeking in vain one blossom where to fix.

While Washington hath left
His awful memory,
A light for after times.

While Washington hath left
His awful memory,
A light for after times.

And as, when all the summer trees are seen
So bright and green,
The Holly leaves a read more

And as, when all the summer trees are seen
So bright and green,
The Holly leaves a sober hue display
Less bright than they,
But when the bare and wintry woods we see,
What then so cheerful as the Holly-tree?

O Reader! hast thou ever stood to see
The Holly-tree?
The eye that contemplates it well perceives
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O Reader! hast thou ever stood to see
The Holly-tree?
The eye that contemplates it well perceives
Its glossy leaves
Ordered by an Intelligence so wise
As might confound the Atheist's sophistries.