The Poetical Works of Wordsworth

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J. W. Lovell Company, 1881 - 707 pagine
 

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Pagina 189 - 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 Is...
Pagina 104 - 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.
Pagina 233 - 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 wreathed horn.
Pagina 188 - Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood, In which the burthen of the mystery, In which the heavy and the weary weight Of all this unintelligible world, Is lightened: — that serene and blessed mood, In which the affections gently lead us on, — Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life...
Pagina 500 - What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now forever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendor 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.
Pagina 499 - Shaped by himself with newly-learned art; A wedding or a festival, A mourning or a funeral; And this hath now his heart, And unto this he frames his song: Then will he fit his tongue To dialogues of business, love, or strife; But it will not be long Ere this be thrown aside, And with new joy and pride The little Actor cons another part; Filling from time to time his "humorous stage...
Pagina 271 - Thou fought'st against him ; but hast vainly striven : Thou from thy Alpine holds at length art driven, Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee. Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft : Then cleave, O cleave to that which still is left; For, high-souled Maid, what sorrow would it be That Mountain floods should thunder as before.
Pagina 257 - Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang As if her song could have no ending ; I saw her singing at her work, And o'er the sickle bending ; — I listened, motionless and still ; And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.
Pagina 422 - Is placable, because occasions rise So often that demand such sacrifice ; More skilful in self-knowledge, even more pure, As tempted more ; more able to endure, As more exposed to suffering and distress ; Thence, also, more alive to tenderness...
Pagina 187 - Love had he found in huts where poor Men lie ; His daily Teachers had been Woods and Rills, The silence that is in the starry sky, The sleep that is among the lonely hills.

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