Blow high, blow low! No longer borrow Care of tomorrow: Take joy of life, and let care go!

How good it is, when overwrought, To seek the woods and find a thoug… That to the soul’s attentive sense Delivers much in evidence Of truths for which man long has s…

‘We have the receipt of fern seed:… —HENRY IV And we have met but twice or thric… Three times enough to make me love… I praised your hair once; then you…

ITS friendship and its carelessne… Did lead me many a mile, Through goat’s-rue, with its dim c… And pink and pearl-white smile; Through crowfoot, with its golden…

There is no rhyme that is half so… As the song of the wind in the rip… There is no metre that’s half so f… As the lilt of the brook under roc… And the loveliest lyric I ever he…

Unto what end, I ask, unto what e… Is all this effort, this unrest an… Work that avails not? strife and m… Ambitions vain that rack our heart… Did labor but avail! did it defend

BEFORE the rain, low in the obs… Weak and morose the moon hung, sic… Around its disc the storm mists, c… Wove an enormous web, wherein it l… Like some white spider hungry for…

White clouds, like thistledown at… That drift through heaven’s azure… The sun beams down; the weedy grou… Vibrates with many an insect sound… Blackberry-lilies in the noon

Dormered and verandaed, cool, Locust-girdled, on the hill; Stained with weather—wear, and dul… Streak’d with lichens; every sill Thresholding the beautiful;

O voice of ecstasy and lyric pain, Divinely throated and divinely hea… Among old England’s songsters! Sp… Haunting the woods of song with ra… In whose wild music Love is born…

He makes a roadway of the crumblin… Or on the fallen tree,-brown as a… Fall stripes with russet,-gambols… Green twilight of the woods. We s… He comes, nor whither (in a time s…

‘Teach me the wisdom of thy beauty… That, being thus wise, I may aspi… What beauty is, whence, why, and i… Immortal, yet how mortal utterly: For, shrinking loveliness, thy bro…

Nevermore at doorways that are bar… Shall the madcap wind knock and th… Nor the circle which thou once did… Shine with footsteps of the neighb… Visitors for whom thou oft didst h…

Now is it as if Spring had never… And Winter but a memory and dream… Here where the Summer stands, her… Heaped high with bloom and beam, Among her blackberry-lilies, low t…

Once a charcoal wagon passed, And an old black charcoalman, ‘Blacker than a midnight blast,’ Mother said. And he began Crying, ‘Charcoal! charcoal!