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TH

THE BELLS OF YOUTH

HE Bells of Youth are ringing in the gateways of the South:

The bannerets of green are now unfurled: Spring has risen with a laugh, a wild-rose in her mouth,

And is singing, singing, singing thro' the world.

The Bells of Youth are ringing in all the silent places,

The primrose and the celandine are out:

Children run a-laughing with joy upon their faces,

The west wind follows after with a shout.

The Bells of Youth are ringing from the forests to the mountains,

From the meadows to the moorlands, hark their ringing!

Ten thousand thousand splashing rills and ferndappled fountains

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Are flinging wide the Song of Youth and onward flowing, singing!

The Bells of Youth are ringing in the gate-ways of the South:

The bannerets of green are now unfurled: Spring has risen with a laugh, a wild-rose in her

mouth,

And is singing, singing, singing thro' the

world.

Fiona Macleod

LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING

I

HEARD a thousand blended notes,

While in a grove I sate reclined,

In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,

The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure: -
But the least motion which they made
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;

And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature's holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?

William Wordsworth

UP

THE TABLES TURNED

P! up! my Friend, and quit your books;
Or surely you'll grow double:

Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;
Why all this toil and trouble?

The sun, above the mountain's head,
A freshening lustre mellow

Through all the long green fields has spread,
His first sweet evening yellow.

Books! 't is a dull and endless strife:
Come, hear the woodland linnet,
How sweet his music! on my life,
There's more of wisdom in it.

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
He, too, is no mean preacher :
Come forth into the light of things,
Let Nature be your teacher.

She has a mind of ready wealth,
Our minds and hearts to bless -
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
Truth breathed by cheerfulness.

One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,

Of moral evil and of good,

Than all the sages can.

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;
Our meddling intellect

Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:
We murder to dissect.

Enough of Science and of Art;

Close up those barren leaves;

Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.

William Wordsworth

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TO THE CUCKOO

BLITHE New-comer! I have heard,
I hear thee and rejoice.

O Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird,

Or but a wandering Voice?

While I am lying on the grass

Thy twofold shout I hear,
From hill to hill it seems to pass,
At once far off, and near.

Though babbling only to the Vale
Of sunshine and of flowers,
Thou bringest unto me a tale
Of visionary hours.

Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring!

Even yet thou art to me
No bird, but an invisible thing,

A voice, a mystery;

The same whom in my school-boy days
I listened to; that Cry

Which made me look a thousand ways
In bush, and tree, and sky.

To seek thee did I often rove

Through woods and on the green; And thou wert still a hope, a love; Still longed for, never seen.

And I can listen to thee yet;
Can lie upon the plain
And listen, till I do beget
That golden time again.

O blessed Bird! the earth we pace
Again appears to be

An unsubstantial, faery place,

That is fit home for Thee!

William Wordsworth

I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD

I

WANDERED lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd

A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breezę.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line-
Along the margin of a bay::
Ten thousand saw I at a glance

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company;

I gazed and gazed- but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought:

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