. One hundred and one famous poems, with a prose supplement. en we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause: theres the respect That makes calamity of so long life; For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressors wrong, the proud mans contumely The pangs of despisd love, the laws delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death— The country from who
. One hundred and one famous poems, with a prose supplement. en we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause: theres the respect That makes calamity of so long life; For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressors wrong, the proud mans contumely The pangs of despisd love, the laws delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death— The country from whose bourn No traveler returns—puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does makes cowards of us all, And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied oer with the pale cast of thought, And enterprises of great pith and moment With this regard their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action. Page One Hundred and Forty-three ©tte {S&mxitxeii anii ©jte JflamflWB Querns. She Was a Phantomof Delight William Wordsworth(Born April 7, 1770; Died April 23, 1850) She was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight; A lovely apparition, sent To be a moments ornament; Her eyes as stars of twilight fair; Like twilights, too, her dusky hair; But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful dawn; A dancing shape, an image gay, To haunt, to startle, and waylay. I saw her upon nearer view, A spirit, yet a woman too! Her household motions light and free, And steps of virgin liberty; A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A creature not too bright or good For human natures daily food, For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. And now I see with eye sereneThe very pulse of the machine;A being breathing thoughtful breath,A traveler between life and death;The reason firm, the temperate will,Endurance, foresight,
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