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!

In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind.

In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind.

Like--but oh! how different!

Like--but oh! how different!

Thoughts shut up want air,
And spoil like bales unopen'd to the sun.

Thoughts shut up want air,
And spoil like bales unopen'd to the sun.

In modern business it is not the crook who is to be feared most, it is the honest man who read more

In modern business it is not the crook who is to be feared most, it is the honest man who doesn't know what he is doing.