When I Consider How My Light Is Spent
When I consider how my light is spent,
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one Talent which is death to hide . . .
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When I have Fears That I May Cease to Be
When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,
Before high-pilèd books, in charactery, . . .
When You Are Old
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look . . .
The Windhover
I caught this morning morning's minionminion favorite, darling; also, an underling or servant, king-
dom of daylight's dauphindauphin prince; a French historical term, along with “chevalier”, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and . . .
Work without Hope
All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair—
The bees are stirring—birds are on the wing—
And Winter slumbering in the open air, . . .
The World Is Too Much With Us
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
. . .
