William Wordsworth

The feather, whence the pen
Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men,
Dropped from read more

The feather, whence the pen
Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men,
Dropped from an Angel's wing.

Life's cares are comforts; such by heaven design'd
He that has none, must make them or be wretched.

Life's cares are comforts; such by heaven design'd
He that has none, must make them or be wretched.

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.

Small service is true service while it lasts:
Of humblest friends, bright Creature! scorn not one;
The read more

Small service is true service while it lasts:
Of humblest friends, bright Creature! scorn not one;
The Daisy, by the shadow that it casts,
Protects the lingering dew drop from the Sun.

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?