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 Posted: Mon Jul 07, 2014 11:02 am
I am the Lord of tempest and mountain,
I am the Spirit of freedom and pride.
Stark must he be and a kinsman to danger
Who shares my kingdom and walks at my side
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Posted: Mon Jul 07, 2014 11:03 am
The poetry of earth is never dead:
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
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Posted: Mon Jul 07, 2014 11:05 am
The poetry of earth is never dead:
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
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Posted: Mon Jul 07, 2014 11:08 am
That is the Grasshopper's--he takes the lead
In summer luxury,--he has never done
With his delights; for when tired out with fun
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
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Posted: Mon Jul 07, 2014 11:10 am
The Mountain sat upon the Plain
In his tremendous Chair—
His observation omnifold,
His inquest, everywhere—
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Posted: Mon Jul 07, 2014 11:11 am
The Seasons played around his knees
Like Children round a sire—
Grandfather of the Days is He
Of Dawn, the Ancestor—
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Posted: Mon Jul 07, 2014 11:12 am
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Posted: Mon Jul 07, 2014 11:13 am
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Posted: Mon Jul 07, 2014 11:16 am
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Posted: Mon Jul 07, 2014 11:18 am
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Posted: Mon Jul 07, 2014 11:19 am
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Posted: Mon Jul 07, 2014 11:20 am
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Posted: Mon Jul 07, 2014 11:21 am
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Posted: Mon Jul 07, 2014 11:22 am
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Posted: Mon Jul 07, 2014 11:25 am
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