ok o'er a little stone,
Running too vehemently to break upon it."

"Whole, like a crag that tumbles from the cliff,
And like a crag was gay with wilding flowers;
And high above a piece of turret stair,
Worn by the feet that now were silent, would
Bare to the sun, and monstrous ivy-stems
Claspt the gray walls with hairy-fibered arms,
And suck'd the joining of the stones, and look'd
A knot, beneath, of snakes; aloft, a grove."

"For as a leaf in mid-November is
To what it was in mid-October, seem'd
The dress that now she look'd on to the dress
She look'd on ere the coming of Geraint."

"That had a sapling growing on it, slip
From the long shore-cliff's windy walls to the beach,
And there lie still, and yet the sapling grew:
So lay the man transfixt."

"For one
That listens near a torrent mountain-brook,
All thro' the crash of the near cataract hears
The drumming thunder of the huger fall
At distance, were the soldiers wont to hear
His voice in battle, and be kindled by it."

"And in the moment after, wild Limours,
Borne on a black horse, like a thunder-cloud
Whose skirts are loosen'd by the breaking storm,
Half ridden off with by the thing he rode,
And all in passion, uttering a dry shriek,
Dash'd on Geraint"

"Where, like a shoaling sea, the lovely blue
Play'd into green, and thicker down the front
With jewels than the sward with drops of dew,
When all night long a cloud clings to the hill,
And with the dawn ascending lets the day
Strike where it clung: so thickly shone the gems."

"As the southwest that blowing Bala Lake
Fills all the sacred Dee. So past the days."

"In the midnight and flourish of his May."

"Only you would not pass beyond the cape
That has the poplar on it."

"And at the inrunning of a little brook,
Sat by the river in a cove and watch'd
The high reed wave, and lifted up his eyes
And saw the barge that brought her moving down,
Far off, a blot upon the stream, and said,
Low in himself, 'Ah, simple heart and sweet,
You loved me, damsel, surely with a love
Far tenderer than my Queen's!'"

"Rankled in him and ruffled all his heart,
As the sharp wind that ruffles all day long
A little bitter pool about a stone
On the bare coast."

"A carefuler in peril did not breathe
For leagues along that breaker-beaten coast
Than Enoch. . . . And he thrice had pluck'd a life