William Wordsworth

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.

This flower that first appeared as summer's guest
Preserves her beauty 'mid autumnal leaves
And to her read more

This flower that first appeared as summer's guest
Preserves her beauty 'mid autumnal leaves
And to her mournful habits fondly cleaves.

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?