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I know a grove

Of large extent, hard by a castle huge,
Which the great lord inhabits not: and so
This grove is wild with tangling underwood,
And the trim walks are broken up, and grass,
Thin grass and king-cups grow within the paths;
But never elsewhere in one place I knew
So many nightingales; and far and near,
In wood and thicket over the wide grove,
They answer and provoke each other's songs
With skirmish and capricious passagings,
And murmurs musical and swift jug jug,
And one low piping sound more sweet than all-
Stirring the air with such a harmony,
That, should you close your eyes, you might almost
Forget it was not day! On moonlit bushes
Whose dewy leaflets are but half disclosed,
You may, perchance, behold them on the twigs,
Their bright, bright eyes, their eyes both bright and

Glistening, while many a glowworm in the shade
Lights up her love-torch.

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And oft a moment's space,
What time the moon was lost behind a cloud,
Hath heard a pause of silence; till the moon
Emerging, hath awakened earth and sky
With one sensation, and these wakeful birds
Have all burst forth in choral minstrelsy,
As if some sudden gale had swept at once
A hundred airy harps! And I have watched
Many a nightingale perched giddily
On blossomy twig still swinging from the breeze,
And to that motion tune his wanton song,
Like tipsy Joy that reels with tossing head.



The insect-world, now sunbeams higher climb,
Oft dream of Spring, and wake before their time.
Bees stroke their little legs across their wings,
And venture short flights where the snowdrop brings
Its silver bell, and winter aconite
Its buttercup-like flowers that shut at night,
With green leaf furling round its cup of gold,

, Like tender maiden muffled from the cold;



They sip, and find their honey-dreams are vain,
Then feebly hasten to their hives again.
The butterflies by eager hopes undone,
Glad as a child come out to greet the sun :
Beneath the shadow of a sudden shower
Are lost-nor see to-morrow's April flower.



I in the flow'ry meads would be:
The crystal streams should solace me;
To whose harmonious bubbling noise
I with my angle would rejoice,

Sit here, and see the turtle dove
Court his chaste mate to acts of love :

Or on that bank feel the west wind
Breathe health and plenty, please my mind
To see sweet dew-drops kiss these flowers,
And then washed off by April showers :

Here hear my Kenna sing a song,
There see a blackbird feed her young,

Or a leverock build her nest:
Here give my weary spirits rest,
And raise my low-pitched thoughts above
Earth, or what poor mortals love :

Thus free from lawsuits, and the noise
Of princes' courts, I would rejoice:

Or with my Bryan and a book,
Loiter long days near Shawford Brook ;
There sit by him, and eat my meat;
There see the sun both rise and set:
There bid good morning to next day;
There meditate

And angle on, and beg to have
A quiet passage to a welcome grave.


time away;


Now daisies pied, and violets blue,

And lady-smocks all silver white,
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue,

Do paint the meadows with delight;
The cuckoo now on every tree,
Sings cuckoo ! cuckoo !


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WHEN apple-trees in blossom are,

And cherries of a silken white;
And king-cups deck the meadows fair;

And daffodils in brooks delight;
When golden wall-flowers bloom around,
And purple violets scent the ground,
And lilac 'gins to show her bloom,-
We then may say the May is come.

When happy shepherds tell their tale

Under the tender leafy tree;
And all adown the grassy vale

The mocking cuckoo chanteth free; )
And Philomel, with liquid throat,
Doth pour the welcome, warbling note,
That had been all the Winter dumb,-
We then may say the May is come.

When fishes leap in silver stream,

And tender corn is springing high, And banks are warm with sunny beam,

And twittering swallows cleave the sky,

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