The poetical works of William Cowper Complete edition, with memoir, explanatory notes, &c .. . ith ease, Oft as the price-deciding hammer falls, He notes it in his book, then raps his box, Swears tis a bargain, rails at his hard fate That he has let it pass—but never bids. Here unmolested, through whatever signThe sun proceeds, I wander: neither mist,Nor freezing sky, nor sultry, checking me,Nor stranger intermeddling with my joy.Even in the spring and playtime of the year,That calls the unwonted villager abroadWith all her little ones, a sportive train.To gather kingcups in the yellow mead,An

The poetical works of William Cowper Complete edition, with memoir, explanatory notes, &c .. . ith ease, Oft as the price-deciding hammer falls, He notes it in his book, then raps his box, Swears tis a bargain, rails at his hard fate That he has let it pass—but never bids. Here unmolested, through whatever signThe sun proceeds, I wander: neither mist,Nor freezing sky, nor sultry, checking me,Nor stranger intermeddling with my joy.Even in the spring and playtime of the year,That calls the unwonted villager abroadWith all her little ones, a sportive train.To gather kingcups in the yellow mead,An Stock Photo
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The Reading Room / Alamy Stock Photo

Image ID:

2AJDBHX

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7.1 MB (765.9 KB Compressed download)

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1275 x 1960 px | 21.6 x 33.2 cm | 8.5 x 13.1 inches | 150dpi

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The poetical works of William Cowper Complete edition, with memoir, explanatory notes, &c .. . ith ease, Oft as the price-deciding hammer falls, He notes it in his book, then raps his box, Swears tis a bargain, rails at his hard fate That he has let it pass—but never bids. Here unmolested, through whatever signThe sun proceeds, I wander: neither mist, Nor freezing sky, nor sultry, checking me, Nor stranger intermeddling with my joy.Even in the spring and playtime of the year, That calls the unwonted villager abroadWith all her little ones, a sportive train.To gather kingcups in the yellow mead, And prink their hair with daisies, or to pickA cheap but wholesome salad from the brook, These shades are all my own. The timorous hare, Grown so familiar with her frequent guest, Scarce shuns me; and the stockdove, unalarmd, Sits cooing in the pine-tree, nor suspendsHis long love-ditty for my near approach.Drawn from his refuge in some lonely elmThat age or injury has hollowd deep, Where, on his bed of wool and matted leaves, * A celebrated auctioneer of books, pictures, and articles of vertu.. Even in the spring and playtime of the year, That calls the unwonted villager abroadWith all her little ones, a sportive train, To gather kingcups in the yellow mead. The Task—The Winter Walk at Noon. THE TASK—THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 317 He has outslept the winter, ventures forth To frisk a while, and bask in the warm sun, The squirrel, flippant, pert, and full of play. He sees me, and at once, swift as a bird, Ascends the neighbouring beech; there whisks his brush, And perks his ears, and stamps and scolds aloud, With all the prettiness of feignd alarm, And anger insignificantly fierce. The heart is hard in nature, and unfitFor human fellowship, as being voidOf sympathy, and therefore dead alikeTo love and friendship both, that is not pleasedWith sight of animals enjoying life, Nor feels their happiness augment his own.The bounding fawn, that darts across the gladeWhen none pursues, throu

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