Selections from Wordsworth

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Kegan Paul, Trench, & Company, 1888 - 309 páginas
 

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Página 177 - Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own; Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And, even with something of a Mother's mind, And no unworthy aim, The homely Nurse doth all she can To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man, Forget the glories he hath known, And that imperial palace whence he came. VII Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, A six years
Página 44 - All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods, ' And mountains ; and of all that we behold From this green earth; of all the mighty world Of eye and ear, both what they half create *, And what perceive...
Página 170 - Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good: Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow.
Página 37 - LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING I heard a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man.
Página 116 - IT is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a Nun Breathless with adoration...
Página 52 - THREE years she grew in sun and shower; Then Nature said, ( A lovelier flower On earth was never sown: This child I to myself will take; She shall be mine, and I will make A lady of my own. ' Myself will to my darling be Both law and impulse : and with me The girl, in rock and plain In earth and heaven, in glade and bower Shall feel an overseeing power To kindle or restrain.
Página 8 - Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, And they are side by side. " My stockings there I often knit, My kerchief there I hem; And there upon the ground I sit, And sing a song to them.
Página 180 - 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...
Página 53 - She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love : A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky.
Página 176 - But there's a Tree, of many, one, A single Field which I have looked upon, Both of them speak of something that is gone. The Pansy at my feet Doth the same tale repeat. Whither is fled the visionary gleam ? Where is it now, the glory and the dream...

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