Ye distant spires, ye antique towers,
  That crowned the watery glade,
Where grateful Science still adores
  Her Henry’s holy shade;
And ye that from the stately brow
Of Windsor’s heights the expanse below
  Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey,...

Poet: Thomas Gray

Methinks we do as fretful children do,
  Leaning their faces on the window-pane
  To sigh the glass dim with their own breath’s stain,
And shut the sky and landscape from their view;
And, thus, alas! since God the maker drew
  A mystic separation ’twixt...

The Muse, disgusted at an age and clime
  Barren of every glorious theme,
In distant lands now waits a better time,
  Producing subjects worthy fame.

In happy climes, where from the genial sun
  And virgin earth such scenes ensue,
The force of...



Come my Susan, quit your chamber,
Greet the op'ning bloom of May,

Let us on you hillock clamber,
...

Poet:

      Ye distant spires, ye antique towers

            That crown the watery glade,

      Where grateful Science still adores

            Her Henry's holy shade;

      And ye, that from the stately brow

      Of...

Poet:



Death! thou real friend of innocence,

Tho' dreadful unto shivering sense,

I feel my nature tottering o'er

Thy gloomy waves, which loudly roar:

Immense the scene, yet dark the view,

Nor Reason darts her...

Poet: