Henry Alford

(1810-1871 / England)

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Best Poem of Henry Alford

Sonnet Xvi. Recollection Of Wordsworth’s

Here are the brows of Quantock, purple--clad
With lavish heath--bloom: there, the banks of Tone.
Where is that woman, love--forlorn and sad,
Piping her flute of hemlock all alone?
I hear the Quantock woodman whistling home,--
The sunset flush is over Dunkery:--
I fear me much that she hath ceased to roam
Up the steep path, and lie beneath the tree.
I always fancied I should hear in sooth
That music,--but it sounds not!--wayward tears
Are filling in mine eyes for thee, poor Ruth;--
I had forgotten all the lapse of years
Since thy deep griefs were hallowed by ...

Read the full of Sonnet Xvi. Recollection Of Wordsworth’s

1830

Thou little flower, that on thy stem
Totterest as the breezes blow;
There is no strife with thee and them,
They kiss thee as they go.

The pretty lambs welcome their life
In the fresh morning of the year;
Taking no forethought of the knife,
They play, and do not fear.

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