. One hundred and one famous poems, with a prose supplement. de of the year, And whatever of life hath ebbed awayComes flooding back with a ripply cheer, Into every bare inlet and creek and bay;Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it,We are happy now because God wills it;No matter how barren the past may have been,Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green;We sit in the warm shade and feel right wellHow the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell;We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowingThat skies are clear and grass is growing;The breeze comes whispering in our ear,That dan
. One hundred and one famous poems, with a prose supplement. de of the year, And whatever of life hath ebbed awayComes flooding back with a ripply cheer, Into every bare inlet and creek and bay;Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it,We are happy now because God wills it;No matter how barren the past may have been,Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green;We sit in the warm shade and feel right wellHow the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell;We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowingThat skies are clear and grass is growing;The breeze comes whispering in our ear,That dandelions are blossoming near, That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing,That the river is bluer than the sky,That the robin is plastering his house hard by;And if the breeze kept the good news other couriers we should not lack; We could guess it all by yon heifers lowing,—And hark! how clear bold chanticleer,Warmed with the new wine of the year, Tells all in his lusty crowing! Page Eighteen te {f&xtnbrzb ztnit ®nv Jffattuuts Tfiixzms. Ode to the West Wind Percy Bysshe Shelley(Born August 4, 1792; Died July 8, 182?) O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumns being,Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves deadAre driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,Pestilence-stricken multitudes! O thouWho chariotest to their dark wintry bedThe winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,Each like a corpse within its grave, untilThine azure sister of the Spring shall blowHer clarion oer the dreaming earth, and fill(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)With living hues and odors plain and hill:Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;Destroyer and preserver: hear, oh hear! Thou on whose stream, mid the steep skys commotion,Loose clouds like earths decaying leaves are shed,Shook from the tangled boughs of heaven and ocean,Angels of rain and lightning! there are spreadOn the blue surface of thine airy surge,Like the bri
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