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beauty behold beneath Bird blessed bower breath bright Busk cheerful Child churchyard clouds Cottage dead dear delight dost doth dream earth Ennerdale eyes fair fear feel flowers Friend Furness Fells glad glory gone Grasmere grave green grief groves happy hast hath hear heard heart Heaven heroic arts hills honoured Land hope hour human human weight Kilve LEONARD live lofty lonely look mind morning mortal Mother mountain Nature never o'er passed Peele Castle pleasure poems poet poetry praise PRIEST pure song rays Workman rocks round Rydal Mount seemed shade Shepherd side sight silent Simon rouse Simplon Pass sing Skiddaw song sorrow soul spake spirit spring stars stone stood stream sweet tears thee thine things thou art thoughts Trajan trees Twill vale voice wandering waters wind woods Wordsworth Wordsworthian Yarrow youth
Página 4 - Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be ? " "How many? Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me. " And where are they ? I pray you tell...
Página 132 - Nor less I deem that there are Powers Which of themselves our minds impress ; That we can feed this mind of ours In a wise passiveness. Think you, 'mid all this mighty sum Of things for ever speaking, That nothing of itself will come, But we must still be seeking ? — Then ask not wherefore, here, alone, Conversing as I may, I sit upon this old grey stone, And dream my time away.
Página 60 - All things that love the sun are out of doors ; The sky rejoices in the morning's birth; The grass is bright with rain-drops ;— on the moors The hare is running races in her mirth; And with her feet she from the plashy earth Raises a mist; that, glittering in the sun, Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run.
Página 240 - Once again I see' These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms, Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke Sent up, in silence, from among the trees ! With some uncertain notice, as might seem Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods, Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire The Hermit sits alone.
Página 216 - IT is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a Nun Breathless with adoration: the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity; The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Sea: Listen! the mighty Being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thunder — everlastingly.
Página 193 - 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 62 - Man, not all alive nor dead, Nor all asleep — in his extreme old age: His body was bent double, feet and head Coming together in life's pilgrimage; As if some dire constraint of pain, or rage Of sickness felt by him in times long past, A more than human weight upon his frame had cast.
Página 235 - Wisdom and Spirit of the universe ! Thou Soul that art the eternity of thought That givest to forms and images a breath And everlasting motion, not in vain By day or star-light thus from my first dawn Of childhood didst thou intertwine for me The passions that build up our human soul ; Not with the mean and vulgar works of man, But with high objects, with enduring things — With life and nature — purifying thus 410 The elements of feeling and of thought, And sanctifying, by such discipline, Both...
Página 291 - tis surely blind. But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer, And frequent sights of what is to be borne ! Such sights, or worse, as are before me here. — Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.
Página 198 - Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest, With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast: Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise; But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings; Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realised, High instincts before which our mortal Nature Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised...