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Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Written December 30, 1816, on a challenge from Leigh Hunt, who printed both his and Keats's sonnets in his paper, The Examiner.
THE poetry of earth is never dead:
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead; That is the Grasshopper's he takes the lead
In summer luxury, he has never done
With his delights; for when tired out with fun,
On a lone winter evening, when the frost
Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills
The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever,
The Grasshopper's among some grassy hills.
SELECTIONS FROM SNOW-BOUND
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER
OUR father rode again his ride
Mile-wide as flies the laden bee;
We shared the fishing off Boar's Head,
We heard the tales of witchcraft old,
When favoring breezes deigned to blow
And idle lay the useless oars.
OUR mother, while she turned her wheel
So rich and picturesque and free,
She made us welcome to her home
Old hearths grew wide to give us room;
At the gray wizard's conjuring-book,
The fame whereof went far and wide
4. Dover in New Hampshire.