Travelleth towards the land of heaven;
Over the silver mountains,
Where spring the nectar fountains;
There will I kiss
The bowl of bliss;
And drink mine everylasting fill
Upon every milken hill.
My soul will be a-dry bfore;
But, after, it will thirst no more.
Sir Walter Raleigh (1552-1618)
His Pilgrimage
I tramp a perpetual journey,
My signs are a rain-proof coat and good shoes and a
staff cut from the woods;
No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair,
I have no chair, nor church nor philosophy;
I lead no man to a dinner-table or library or exchange,
But each man and each woman of you I lead upon a knoll,
My left hand hooks you round the waist,
My right hand points to landscapes of continennts, and a
plain public road.
Walt Whitman
Song of Myself
Does the road wind uphill all the way?
Yes, to the very end.
Will the day's journey take the whole long day?
From morn to night, my friend.
Christina Georgina Rossetti
Uphill
Sure thou didst flourish once! and many springs,
Many bright mornings, much dew, many showers,
Pass'd o'er thy head; many light hearts and wings,
Which now are dead, lodg'd in thy living bowers.
And still a new succession sings and flies;
Fresh groves grow up, and their green branches shoot
Towards the old and still enduring skies,
While the low violet thrives at their root.
Henry Vaughan
The Timber
The spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue ethereal sky,
and spangled heavens, a shining frame,
Their great Original proclaim.
Th' unwearied Sun from day to day
Does his Creator's power display;
And publishes to every land
The work of an Almighty hand.
Joseph Addison
Hymn
Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glass
Untouch'd, unbreathed upon.
William Wordsworth
The Trosachs
If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song,
May hope, chaste Eve, to sooth thy modest ear,
Like thy iwn solem springs,
Thy springs and dying gales;
O nymph reserved, while now the brigh-hair'd sun
Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts,
With brede ethereal wove,
O'erhang his wavy bed:
William Collins (1721-1759)
Ode to Evening
and down the high mountains
Sappho
Fragment 289
When I survey the bright
Celestial sphere;
So rich with jewels hung, that Night
Doth like an Ethiop bride appear:
My soul her wings doth spread
And heavenward flies,
Th' Almighty's mysteries to read
in the large volumes of the skies.
William Habington (1605-1654)
Nox Nocti Indicat Scientiam
Mine be a cot beside the hill;
A bee-hive's hum shall sooth my ear;
A willowy brook, that turns a mill,
With many a fall shall linger near.
Samuel Rogers (1763-1855)
A Wish
Awake, Æolian lyre, awake,
And give to rapture all thy trembling strings.
From Helicon's harmonious springs
A thousdand rills their mazy progress take:
Thomas Gray
A Pindaric Ode