Soothing her as she sobbed aloud:-。，
With a frosty brow and an icicle tongue,。，
Its basest or its purest heaves,。，Low-lidded with twilight, and tranced with the dolorous sound,
The lifeless immortality。，It is to make the various skies,
。，And if I say, I love her, man!
When day is done。，The wild Atlantic's weltering gloom,
THE POETRY OF WORDSWORTH。，
。，Of anguished love, long hidden, speak
Comes not one murmur or report:。，Sleep in the calmness of the dead.
Sidelong, for food or a caress,。，
I would not heed or feel the blight;。，Her incense wreaths the showering spray.
Her incense wreaths the showering spray.。，And, heigh! that her huntsman I might be!
She dashes when the chase is over,。，Nought other stirred
And she is known for many a mile,。，And from one common fountain drinks,
Of ebbing melody, like the strings。，As dreams of heaven to souls that sleep!
With a frosty brow and an icicle tongue,。，And across the wintry water
，。，And now beneath the stately trees,