William Wordsworth ( 10 of 90 )
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring, and reprove.
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring, and reprove.
O joy! that in our embers
Is something that doth live.
O joy! that in our embers
Is something that doth live.
We meet thee, like a pleasant thought,
When such are wanted.
We meet thee, like a pleasant thought,
When such are wanted.
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.
The soft blue sky did never melt
Into his heart; he never felt
The witching of the read more
The soft blue sky did never melt
Into his heart; he never felt
The witching of the soft blue sky!
My eyes are dim with childish tears,
My heart is idly stirred,
For the same sound is read more
My eyes are dim with childish tears,
My heart is idly stirred,
For the same sound is in my ears
Which in those days I heard.
But hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity.
But hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity.
The marble index of a mind forever
Voyaging through strange seas of thought, alone.
The marble index of a mind forever
Voyaging through strange seas of thought, alone.
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!
