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THE Snow lies sprinkled on the beach,
Shorn of their crests the blighted waves
On such a stony, breaking beach
He from his dim enchanted caves
Unto a spirit too light for fear
For to the gain life's summer saves,
My spirit kisseth thine,
In the life-kindling fold
Of God's breath; where on high,
Like a lost world I lie :
And o'er my dreaming plains
Like what the shepherd sees
The huge unclouded sun,
ARIEL, O,-my angel, my own,-
That makest my heart run over with rhyme,
Now indeed I have cause to mourn,
Leave me not to my folly :
For when thou art with me is none so gay As I, and none when thou'rt away
Was ever so melancholy.
LET praise devote thy work, and skill employ
DEDICATED TO M. G. K.
BETWIXT two billows of the downs
And nothing sees but the bald crowns
Clustering beneath the long descent
We found it in the mid-day sun
High from his load a woodman pitched His faggots on the stack:
Knee-deep in straw the cattle twitched Sweet hay from crib and rack:
And from the barn hard by was borne A steady muffled din,
By which we knew that threshèd corn Was winnowing, and went in.
The sunbeams on the motey air
One turns the crank, one stoops to feed
One in the bushel scoops the seed,
One stands to hold the sack.
We watched the good grain rattle down,
Merry they were, because the wheat
It chanced we from the city were,
In spirit from the store and stir
But here we found ourselves again.
Where humble harvests bring
'Tis merry winnowing.
THE AFFLICTION OF RICHARD
LOVE not too much.
When thou hast made me such,
And dost thy gifts bestow,
How can I love too much?