William Wordsworth ( 10 of 90 )
And hear the mighty stream of tendency
Uttering, for elevation of our thought,
A clear sonorous voice, read more
And hear the mighty stream of tendency
Uttering, for elevation of our thought,
A clear sonorous voice, inaudible
To the vast multitude.
The soft blue sky did never melt
Into his heart; he never felt
The witching of the read more
The soft blue sky did never melt
Into his heart; he never felt
The witching of the soft blue sky!
Sweet Mercy! to the gates of Heaven
This minstrel lead, his sins forgiven;
The rueful conflict, the read more
Sweet Mercy! to the gates of Heaven
This minstrel lead, his sins forgiven;
The rueful conflict, the heart riven
With vain endeavour,
And memory of earth's bitter leaven
Effaced forever.
The swan on still St. Mary's lake
Float double, swan and shadow!
The swan on still St. Mary's lake
Float double, swan and shadow!
Like an army defeated
The snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill
On read more
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.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendor, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, read more
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendor, valley, rock, or hill;
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.
O joy! that in our embers
Is something that doth live.
O joy! that in our embers
Is something that doth live.
I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds
With coldness still returning;
Alas! the gratitude of men
read more
I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds
With coldness still returning;
Alas! the gratitude of men
Hath often left me mourning.
My eyes are dim with childish tears,
My heart is idly stirred,
For the same sound is read more
My eyes are dim with childish tears,
My heart is idly stirred,
For the same sound is in my ears
Which in those days I heard.
Much converse do I find in thee,
Historian of my infancy!
Float near me; do not yet read more
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.
