Poem – Now The Hungry Lion Roars – William Shakespeare

From “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream,” Act V. Scene 2 
PUCK sings: 

NOW the hungry lion roars, 

And the wolf behowls the moon; 

Whilst the heavy ploughman snores, 

All with weary task fordone. 

Now the wasted brands do glow, 

Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud, 

Puts the wretch that lies in woe 

In remembrance of a shroud. 

Now it is the time of night, 

That the graves, all gaping wide, 

Every one lets forth his sprite, 

In the churchway paths to glide: 

And we fairies, that do run 

By the triple Hecate’s team, 

From the presence of the sun, 

Following darkness like a dream, 

Now are frolic; not a mouse 

Shall disturb this hallowed house: 

I am sent with broom before 

To sweep the dust behind the door.

Poem – Now The Hungry Lion Roars – William Shakespeare

From “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream,” Act V. Scene 2 
PUCK sings: 

NOW the hungry lion roars, 

And the wolf behowls the moon; 

Whilst the heavy ploughman snores, 

All with weary task fordone. 

Now the wasted brands do glow, 

Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud, 

Puts the wretch that lies in woe 

In remembrance of a shroud. 

Now it is the time of night, 

That the graves, all gaping wide, 

Every one lets forth his sprite, 

In the churchway paths to glide: 

And we fairies, that do run 

By the triple Hecate’s team, 

From the presence of the sun, 

Following darkness like a dream, 

Now are frolic; not a mouse 

Shall disturb this hallowed house: 

I am sent with broom before 

To sweep the dust behind the door.

Poems – British Freedom – William Wordsworth

It is not to be thought of that the Flood 

Of British freedom, which, to the open sea 

Of the world’s praise, from dark antiquity 

Hath flowed, ‘with pomp of waters, unwithstood,’ 

Roused though it be full often to a mood 

Which spurns the check of salutary bands, 

That this most famous Stream in bogs and sands 

Should perish; and to evil and to good 

Be lost for ever. In our halls is hung 

Armoury of the invincible Knights of old: 

We must be free or die, who speak the tongue 

That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold 

Which Milton held.-In every thing we are sprung 

Of Earth’s first blood, have titles manifold.

Poems – Composed During A Storm – William Wordsworth 

One who was suffering tumult in his soul, 

Yet failed to seek the sure relief of prayer, 

Went forth–his course surrendering to the care 

Of the fierce wind, while mid-day lightnings prowl 

Insidiously, untimely thunders growl; 

While trees, dim-seen, in frenzied numbers, tear 

The lingering remnant of their yellow hair, 

And shivering wolves, surprised with darkness, howl 

As if the sun were not. He raised his eye 

Soul-smitten; for, that instant, did appear 

Large space (‘mid dreadful clouds) of purest sky, 

An azure disc–shield of Tranquillity; 

Invisible, unlooked-for, minister 

Of providential goodness ever nigh!