William Wordsworth

Up from the sea, the wild north wind is blowing
Under the sky's gray arch;
Smiling I read more

Up from the sea, the wild north wind is blowing
Under the sky's gray arch;
Smiling I watch the shaken elm boughs, knowing
It is the wind of March.

I look for ghosts; but none will force
Their way to me; 'tis falsely said
That even read more

I look for ghosts; but none will force
Their way to me; 'tis falsely said
That even there was intercourse
Between the living and the dead.

The holy time is quiet as a Nun
Breathless with adoration.

The holy time is quiet as a Nun
Breathless with adoration.

How blessings brighten as they take their flight.

How blessings brighten as they take their flight.

Thou unassuming Commonplace
Of Nature.

Thou unassuming Commonplace
Of Nature.