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altered appeared beauty bird bright brother called child close clouds Coleridge Compare composed dear delight described Dorothy earlier earth edition expressed face fair faith fear feeling fields flowers give Grasmere green happy hath hear heard heart heaven hill hope hour human imagination Italy Journal lake land later less letter light lines living look memory mind moral morning mountains nature never night objects opening passed passion perhaps pleasure poem poet poetry present probably published reading replaced rock round says seemed seen sense side sight sonnet soul sound speaks spirit spring stanza stars stood suggested sweet tells thee things thou thought trees truth turned voice walked wild Wordsworth worth writes written Yarrow youth
Página 323 - 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 everything, we are out of tune; It moves us not.
Página 227 - But for those first affections, Those shadowy recollections, Which, be they what they may, Are yet the fountain light of all our day, Are yet a master light of all our seeing; Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake, To perish never; Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour, Nor Man nor Boy, Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Can utterly abolish or destroy!
Página 228 - Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears ; To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
Página 45 - These beauteous forms, Through a long absence, have not been to me As is a landscape to a blind man's eye : But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din Of towns and cities, I have owed to them In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart...
Página 46 - If this Be but a vain belief, yet, oh ! how oft, In darkness, and amid the many shapes Of joyless day-light; when the fretful .stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world, Have hung upon the beatings of my heart, How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee, O sylvan Wye ! Thou wanderer thro' the woods, How often has my spirit turned to thee!
Página 184 - A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food ; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
Página 228 - What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be; In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of human suffering; In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind.
Página 222 - There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore; — Turn wheresoe'er I may, By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
Página 137 - My 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; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.