William Wordsworth

“Every gift of noble origin Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath.”

“I travelled among unknown men, In lands beyond the sea; Nor, England! did I know till then What love I bore to thee.”

“Much converse do I find in thee, Historian of my infancy! Float near me; do not yet depart! Dead times revive in thee: Thou bring'st, gay creature as thou art! A solemn image to my heart.”

“Behold, within the leafy shade, Those bright blue eggs together laid! On me the chance-discovered sight Gleamed like a vision of delight.”

“She gave me eyes, she gave me ears; And humble cares,and delicate fears; A heart, the fountain of sweet tears; And love, and thought, and joy.”

“Sweet childish days, that were as long As twenty days are now.”

“Like an army defeated The snow hath retreated, And now doth fare ill On the top of the bare hill; The Ploughboy is whooping—anon—anon! There's joy in the mountains: There's life in the fountains; Small clouds are sailing, Blue sky prevailing; The rain is over and gone.”

“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.”

“Earth has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie Open unto the fields and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.”

“Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will: Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still!”

“Rapine, avarice, expense This is idolatry; and these we adore: Plain living and high thinking are no more: The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence, And pure religion breathing household laws.”

“O for a single hour of that Dundee, Who on that day the word of onset gave!”

“Pleasures newly found are sweet When they lie about our feet.”

“Hail to thee, far above the rest In joy of voice and pinion! Thou, linnet! in thy green array, Presiding spirit here to-day, Dost lead the revels of the May; And this is thy dominion.”

“There is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale, Which to this day stands single, in the midst Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore.”

“Of vast circumference and gloom profound, This solitary Tree! A living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay; Of form and aspect too magnificent To be destroyed.”

“Bright flower! whose home is everywhere Bold in maternal nature's care And all the long year through the heir Of joy or sorrow, Methinks that there abides in thee Some concord with humanity, Given to no other flower I see The forest through.”

“O Blithe newcomer! I have heard, I hear thee and rejoice. O Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird, Or but a wandering Voice?”

“No bird, but an invisible thing, A voice, a mystery.”

“Thou unassuming Common-place Of Nature, with that homely face, And yet with something of a grace, Which Love makes for thee!”

“Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit, and play with similes, Loose types of things through all degrees.”

“The light that never was, on sea or land, The consecration, and the poet's dream.”

“Dear Child of Nature, let them rail!”

“Thou, while thy babes around thee cling, Shalt show us how divine a thing A Woman may be made.”

“But an old age serene and bright, And lovely as a Lapland night, Shall lead thee to thy grave.”

“She hath smiles to earth unknown— Smiles that with motion of their own Do spread, and sink, and rise.”

“Like—but oh, how different!”

“In truth the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is.”

“The 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!”

“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.”