William Wordsworth

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

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

Sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart.

Sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart.

But shapes that come not at an earthly call,
Will not depart when mortal voices bid.

But shapes that come not at an earthly call,
Will not depart when mortal voices bid.

Now when the primrose makes a splendid show,
And lilies face the March-winds in full blow,
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Now when the primrose makes a splendid show,
And lilies face the March-winds in full blow,
And humbler growths as moved with one desire
Put on, to welcome spring, their best attire,
Poor Robin is yet flowerless; but how gay
With his red stalks upon this sunny day!

Wrongs unredressed, or insults unavenged.

Wrongs unredressed, or insults unavenged.