William Wordsworth

The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift,
That no philosophy can lift.

The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift,
That no philosophy can lift.

Of vast circumference and gloom profound,
This solitary Tree! A living thing
Produced too slowly ever to read more

Of vast circumference and gloom profound,
This solitary Tree! A living thing
Produced too slowly ever to decay;
Of form and aspect too magnificent
To be destroyed.

For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes the read more

For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.

And hear the mighty stream of tendency
Uttering, for elevation of our thought,
A clear sonorous voice, read more

And hear the mighty stream of tendency
Uttering, for elevation of our thought,
A clear sonorous voice, inaudible
To the vast multitude.

The child is father of the man.

The child is father of the man.