When we stand beneath sky so blue, on sand that feels so cold and wet, I just want to be close to you, may it be sunrise or sunset, even if I get just a moment or two, that moment is impossible to forget, coz love we have is pure and true, and inside my heart there is no regret..!!

Art thou a Statist in the van Of public conflicts trained and bred? –First learn to love one living man; ‘Then’ may’st thou think upon the dead. A Lawyer art thou?–draw not nigh! Go, carry to some fitter place The keenness of that practised eye, The hardness of that sallow face. Art thou a Man of purple cheer? A rosy Man, right plump to see? Approach; yet, Doctor, not too  [ Read More ]

The sky is overcast With a continuous cloud of texture close, Heavy and wan, all whitened by the Moon, Which through that veil is indistinctly seen, A dull, contracted circle, yielding light So feebly spread, that not a shadow falls, Chequering the ground–from rock, plant, tree, or tower. At length a pleasant instantaneous gleam Startles the pensive traveller while he treads His lonesome path, with unobserving eye Bent earthwards; he  [ Read More ]

Lo! where the Moon along the sky Sails with her happy destiny; Oft is she hid from mortal eye Or dimly seen, But when the clouds asunder fly How bright her mien! Far different we–a froward race, Thousands though rich in Fortune’s grace With cherished sullenness of pace Their way pursue, Ingrates who wear a smileless face The whole year through. If kindred humours e’er would make My spirit droop  [ Read More ]

‘Tis said, that some have died for love: And here and there a churchyard grave is found In the cold north’s unhallowed ground, Because the wretched man himself had slain, His love was such a grievous pain. And there is one whom I five years have known; He dwells alone Upon Helvellyn’s side: He loved–the pretty Barbara died; And thus he makes his moan: Three years had Barbara in her  [ Read More ]

She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love: A violet by a mosy tone Half hidden from the eye! —Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and, oh, The difference to me!  [ Read More ]

Calm is all nature as a resting wheel. The kine are couched upon the dewy grass; The horse alone, seen dimly as I pass, Is cropping audibly his later meal: Dark is the ground; a slumber seems to steal O’er vale, and mountain, and the starless sky. Now, in this blank of things, a harmony, Home-felt, and home-created, comes to heal That grief for which the senses still supply Fresh  [ Read More ]