William Wordsworth ( 10 of 90 )
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A maid whom there were none read more
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love.
The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift,
That no philosophy can lift.
The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift,
That no philosophy can lift.
And when a damp
Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand
The Thing became a read more
And when a damp
Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand
The Thing became a trumpet; whence he blew
Soul-animating strains--alas! too few.
One great society alone on earth: the noble living and the noble dead.
One great society alone on earth: the noble living and the noble dead.
Sad fancies do we then affect,
In luxury of disrespect
To our own prodigal excess
read more
Sad fancies do we then affect,
In luxury of disrespect
To our own prodigal excess
Of too familiar happiness.
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.
Methought I say the footsteps of a throne.
- William Wordsworth,
Methought I say the footsteps of a throne.
- William Wordsworth,
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.
Two voices are there; one is of the sea,
One of the mountains: each a mighty Voice.
Two voices are there; one is of the sea,
One of the mountains: each a mighty Voice.
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?
