William Wordsworth

I heard a Stock-dove sing or say
His homely tale, this very day;
His voice was buried read more

I heard a Stock-dove sing or say
His homely tale, this very day;
His voice was buried among trees,
Yet to be come at by the breeze:
He did not cease; but cooed--and cooed:
And somewhat pensively he wooed:
He sang of love, with quiet blending,
Slow to begin, and never ending;
Of serious faith, and inward glee;
That was the song,--the song for me!

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.

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
He, too, is no mean preacher:
Come forth into the read more

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
He, too, is no mean preacher:
Come forth into the light of things,
Let Nature be your teacher.

Lady of the Mere,
Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance.

Lady of the Mere,
Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance.

A cheerful life is what the Muses love,
A soaring spirit is their prime delight.

A cheerful life is what the Muses love,
A soaring spirit is their prime delight.