William Wordsworth

The holy time is quiet as a Nun
Breathless with adoration.

The holy time is quiet as a Nun
Breathless with adoration.

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.

Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.

Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.

I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds
With coldness still returning;
Alas! the gratitude of men
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I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds
With coldness still returning;
Alas! the gratitude of men
Hath often left me mourning.

O joy! that in our embers
Is something that doth live.

O joy! that in our embers
Is something that doth live.