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Dear friend, far off, my lost desire,

Dear love, for nothing less than thee

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee

Does the road wind up-hill all the way?
Drink to me only with thine eyes,

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Earth has not anything to show more fair:

E'en like two little bank-dividing brooks, .
Eternal Spirit of the chainless mind!
Even in a palace, life may be led well!
Even such is time, that takes in trust

Exert thy voice, sweet harbinger of Spring!

Fair Amoret is gone astray;

Fair and fair, and twice so fair,

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Fair Daffodils! we weep to see

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Five years have past; five summers, with the length

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Flee fro the prees, and dwelle with sothfastnesse,

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Get thee behind me. Even as, heavy-curled,

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Get up, get up for shame! The blooming morn

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Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,

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Here lies a man much wronged in his hopes,

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Here lies our Sovereign Lord the King,

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Here lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue,

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Here, wandering long, amid these frowning fields,

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Her eyes the glowworm lend thee,

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Highway, since you my chief Parnassus be,

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How changed is here each spot man makes or fills!

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How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
How happy is he born and taught

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If to be absent were to be

How poor, how rich, how abject, how august

How sleep the Brave who sink to rest

How vainly men themselves amaze

I arise from dreams of thee.

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I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,

I cannot change, as others do,

If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song,

If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange

If poisonous minerals, and if that tree.

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I have had playmates, I have had companions,

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I have lived long enough, having seen one thing, that love hath an end;
I long to talk with some old lover's ghost.

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I met a traveller from an antique land.

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In a coign of the cliff between lowland and highland,

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In lowly dale, fast by a river's side.

In our old shipwrecked days there was an hour

In the merry month of May,

In this little urn is laid

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

Iphigeneia, when she heard her doom

I said-Then, dearest, since 'tis so,

I saw Eternity the other night,

I sent for Ratcliffe; was so ill,

Is there for honest poverty.

I strove with none; for none was worth my strife,

I struck the board, and cry'd "No more!.

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free,

It is an ancient Mariner

It little profits that an idle king,

It was a dismal and a fearful night,

It was a summer evening,

I've heard them lilting, at our ewe-milking,

I wandered lonely as a cloud

I was thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile!
I weep for Adonais-he is dead!

John Anderson my jo, John,

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Leave me, O Love, which reachest but to dust;
Let me not to the marriage of true minds.
Like to a silkworm of one year,
Little lamb, who made thee?

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Live in these conquering leaves: live all the same;
Look in my face; my name is Might-have-been;
Lords, knights, and 'squires, the numerous band,
Lord, Thou hast given me a cell

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Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,
Love in my bosom, like a bee,

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Lo! where the rosy-bosom'd Hours,

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Lyke as a ship, that through the ocean wyde,

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Methought I saw my late espoused saint
Milton's the prince of poets-so we say;
Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour:
Mirry Margaret

More than most faire, full of the living fire
Mortality, behold and fear!

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Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold,

Music, when soft voices die,

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Never seek to tell thy love,

My sheep are thoughts, which I both guide and serve; 'My tongue cannot express my grief for one,

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No more, my Dear, no more these counsels try;
Nor force nor fraud shall sunder us!
Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
Not, Celia, that I juster am

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Not if men's tongues and angels' all in one
Not in the crises of events, .

O blithe New-comer! I have heard,

O'er Cornwall's cliffs the tempest roared,

Of Adam's first wife, Lilith, it is told

O for some honest lover's ghost,

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Of this fair volume which we World do name

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Oh Galuppi, Baldassare, this is very sad to find!
Oh, that those lips had language!

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"O where have you been, my long, long love,

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O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,

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She was a Phantom of delight.

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'Rise up, rise up, now, Lord Douglas," she says,
Roses at first were white,

Rough wind, that moanest loud

"Ruin seize thee, ruthless King!

Say, Earth, why hast thou got thee new attire,
Say not the struggle nought availeth,

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,.

See the chariot at hand here of Love,
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Shall I, wasting in despair..

She dwelt among the untrodden ways
She walks in beauty, like the night

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
Silent Nymph, with curious eye! .

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Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part.

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Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears:

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So all day long the noise of battle roll'd

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So forth issew'd the seasons of the yeare:

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Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king;

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Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,

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The changing guests, each in a different mood,

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There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
Ther was in Asie, in a gret citee,

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The sea is calm to-night,

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These, as they change, Almighty Father, these,
The soote season, that bud and bloom forth brings,

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The world is too much with us; late and soon,

They are all gone into the world of Light,

The year's at the spring

This hindir yeir I hard be tald,

This little vault, this narrow room,

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Thou art not fair, for all thy red and white,

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Thou art too hard for me in Love.

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Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,

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Thou that hast fashioned twice this soul of ours,

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Three poets, in three distant ages born,

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Thus said the Lord in the Vault above the Cherubim,

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To me 'twas given to die: to thee 'tis given

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To see the world in a grain of sand,

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To the Lords of Convention 't was Claver'se who spoke,
Trusty, dusky, vivid, true,

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Under yonder beech-tree single on the greensward,

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We are in love's land to-day;

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Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan;

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Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee,

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When he, who adores thee, has left but the name

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When I am dead, my dearest,

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When I bethinke me on that speech whyl-eare

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When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,

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When the hounds of spring are on winter's traces,

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When the old flaming Prophet climb'd the sky,
When to her lute Corinna sings,

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Where lies the land to which the ship would go?

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