Then, sometimes, in that silence, while he hung
Listening, a gentle shock of mild surprise
Has carried far into his heart the voice
Of mountain torrents; or the visible scene
Would enter unawares into his mind
With all its solemn imagery, its rocks,

Its woods, and that uncertain heaven received
Into the bosom of the steady lake.

This boy was taken from his mates, and died
In childhood, ere he was full twelve years old.
Pre-eminent in beauty is the vale

Where he was born and bred: the church-yard hangs

Upon a slope above the village school;

And, through that church-yard when my way

led

On summer evenings, I believe that there
A long half-hour together I have stood
Mute-looking at the grave in which he lies!

has

"UP! UP! MY FRIEND, AND QUIT YOUR BOOKS"

U

By William Wordsworth

P! up! my Friend, and quit your books;
Or surely you'll grow double:

Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;

Why all this toil and trouble?

The sun, above the mountain's head,
A freshening lustre mellow

Through all the long green fields has spread,
His first sweet evening yellow.

Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife:

Come, hear the woodland linnet,

How sweet his music! on my life,
There's more of wisdom in it.

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.

She has a world of ready wealth,
Our minds and hearts to bless
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
Truth breathed by cheerfulness.

One impulse from a vernal wood

May teach you more of man,

Of moral evil and of good,

Than all the sages can.

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;

Our meddling intellect

Misshapes the beauteous forms of things:

We murder to dissect.

Enough of Science and of Art;

Close up these barren leaves;

Come forth, and bring with you a heart

That watches and receives.

DAFFODILS

By William Wordsworth

WANDERED lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the
breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee;
A poet could not but be gay

In such a jocund company.

I gazed and gazed - but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought.

For oft, when on my couch I lie,
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

MY HEART LEAPS UP WHEN I

BEHOLD

By William Wordsworth

Y heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:

So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;

So be it when I shall grow old,

Or let me die!

The Child is father of the Man 1;

And I could wish my days to be

Bound each to each by natural piety.

"THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH
WITH US"

By William Wordsworth

HE world is too much with us;

late and soon,

Getting and spending, we lay

waste our powers:

Little we see in Nature that is

ours;

We have given our hearts away,
a sordid boon!

This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon ;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for every thing, we are out of tune;

It moves us not. Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;

So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn ;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.

TO A BUTTERFLY

By William Wordsworth

'VE watched you now a full half

hour,

Self-poised upon

flower;

that yellow

And, little Butterfly! indeed

I know not if you sleep or feed,
How motionless!

seas

More motionless! and then

not frozen

What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,

And calls you forth again!

This plot of Orchard-ground is ours;
My trees they are, my Sister's flowers;

Here rest your wings when they are weary;

Here lodge as in a sanctuary!

Come often to us, fear no wrong;

Sit near us on the bough!

We'll talk of sunshine and of song,

And summer days, when we were young;
Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.