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art thou beauty behold beneath bird blest bowers breast breath bright calm cheer child clouds creature Cuckoo dark dear deep delight doth earth Elea fair faith fancy fear feel flowers Friend gentle grace Grasmere grave green grove hand happy hath hear heard heart heaven hill holy honour hope hour human Idon labour light living lonely look meek mind morning mountain Muse nature Nature's never night o'er pain passed passion peace Peter Bell pleasure Poem Poet praise rapture rill rock round Rylstone seemed shade side sight silent sleep smile smooth soft song Sonnet sorrow soul sound spirit St Bees stars stood stream sublime sweet talc tears thee thine things thou thought trees truth Twas Ulpha vale voice wandering ween wild William Wordsworth wind woods words Yarrow youth
Page 351 - The rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the rose; The moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare; Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair; The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.
Page 121 - What then I was. The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion : the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their colours and their forms, were then to me An appetite; a feeling and a love, That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.
Page 121 - Flying from something that he dreads, than one Who sought the thing he loved. For Nature then (The coarser pleasures of my boyish days, And their glad animal movements all gone by) To me was all in all.
Page 120 - 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 ; And passing even into my purer mind With tranquil restoration...
Page 351 - No more shall grief of mine the season wrong; I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng, The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep. And all the earth is gay; Land and sea Give themselves up to jollity, And with the heart of May...
Page 180 - Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour: England hath need of thee : she is a fen Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men; Oh ! raise us up, return to us again ; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
Page 351 - I have look'd upon, Both of them speak of something that is gone. The pansy at my feet Doth the same tale repeat.
Page 121 - Nature never did betray The heart that loved her ; 'tis her privilege, Through all the years of this our life, to lead From joy to joy : for she can so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With quietness and beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all The dreary intercourse of daily life, Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold...
Page 180 - O FRIEND ! I know not which way I must look For comfort, being, as I am, opprest, To think that now our life is only drest For show ; mean handy-work of craftsman, cook, Or groom ! We must run glittering like a brook In the open sunshine, or we are unblest : The wealthiest man among us is the best : No grandeur now in nature or in book Delights us. 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...