William Wordsworth

The primal duties shine aloft, like stars;
The charities that soothe, and heal, and bless
Are scattered read more

The primal duties shine aloft, like stars;
The charities that soothe, and heal, and bless
Are scattered at the feet of Man, like flowers.

We take no note of time
But from its loss.

We take no note of time
But from its loss.

Art thou the bird whom Man loves best,
The pious bird with the scarlet breast,
Our little read more

Art thou the bird whom Man loves best,
The pious bird with the scarlet breast,
Our little English Robin;
The bird that comes about our doors
When autumn winds are sobbing?

She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A maid whom there were none read more

She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love.

The sweetest thing that ever grew
Beside a human door.

The sweetest thing that ever grew
Beside a human door.