Above dead things a thing that cannot die;。，To know a parent's love.
Are ever present with the deed itself.。，
With spaces for rich meadows flowery bright;。，Together in its dull voracious roar.
I wander, fill'd with joy.。，Haply that Sacrifice is sleeping now,
In my garden porch for thy redbreast pride,。，Thereat he clasped her, and whispered he,
Shining anew。，Come, in the season of opening buds;
And then at eve, the nightingale, is doubly sweet and dear.。，And wail of execrating kindred, slid
The mother's tears, the nation's stormful grief,。，
And gushing of their weary hopes once more。，In harvest-time, preluded by dull blasts;
Solemnly towering while fitful gleams。，Of the fawn and the doe.
To what would be a sorrowful time。，Like crowds that shout for bread and hunger more.
Pant down the lake;。，And mortals worship, hear me! for indeed
Such was the agitation of the sea。，
Of the sea's blue breast,。，Grew weary of restraint, and heaved themselves
A lovelier hue, a warmer ray,。，And wonder what duties can thus berate thee.
And like a phantom in fantastic play。，Quivering in harmony with the tempest, fierce
The song and the ensign of dear fireside.。，And knew the mighty heart. Awhile he gazed,
，I。，Grew weary of restraint, and heaved themselves