William Wordsworth

Thoughts shut up want air,
And spoil like bales unopen'd to the sun.

Thoughts shut up want air,
And spoil like bales unopen'd to the sun.

Sad fancies do we then affect,
In luxury of disrespect
To our own prodigal excess
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Sad fancies do we then affect,
In luxury of disrespect
To our own prodigal excess
Of too familiar happiness.

Up from the sea, the wild north wind is blowing
Under the sky's gray arch;
Smiling I read more

Up from the sea, the wild north wind is blowing
Under the sky's gray arch;
Smiling I watch the shaken elm boughs, knowing
It is the wind of March.

Never to blend our pleasure or our pride
With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.

Never to blend our pleasure or our pride
With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.

O blithe New-comer! I have heard,
I hear thee and rejoice;
O Cuckoo! shall I call thee read more

O blithe New-comer! I have heard,
I hear thee and rejoice;
O Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird,
Or but a wandering Voice?