Poems of Wordsworth

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Macmillan, 1882 - 331 pages

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Page 224 - IT is a beauteous evening, calm and free ; The holy time is quiet as a Nun Breathless with adoration...
Page 206 - Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest, With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast : — Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise; But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings; Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realized...
Page 202 - Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call Ye to each other make; I see The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee; My heart is at your festival, My head hath its coronal, The fulness of your bliss, I feel — I feel it all.
Page 202 - As to the tabor's sound, To me alone there came a thought of grief: A timely utterance gave that thought relief, And I again am strong...
Page 188 - It is the generous spirit, who, when brought Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought Upon the plan that pleased his boyish thought : Whose high endeavours are an inward light That makes the path before him always bright : Who, with a natural instinct to discern What knowledge can perform, is diligent to learn ; Abides by this resolve, and stops not there, But makes his moral being his prime care ; Who, doomed to go in company with pain, And fear, and bloodshed, miserable train ! Turns his necessity...
Page 3 - She had a rustic, woodlai.d air, And she was wildly clad; Her eyes were fair, and very fair; — Her beauty made me glad. " Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be? " " How many? Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me.
Page 216 - The student's bower for gold, some fears unnamed I had, my Country ! — am I to be blamed ? But when I think of thee, and what thou art, Verily, in the bottom of my heart, Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed. For dearly must we prize thee ; we who find In thee a bulwark for the cause of men...
Page 200 - Stern Lawgiver ! yet thou dost wear The Godhead's most benignant grace; Nor know we anything so fair As is the smile upon thy face...
Page 200 - The task, in smoother walks to stray; But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. Through no disturbance of my soul, Or strong compunction in me wrought, I supplicate for thy control; But in the quietness of thought : Me this unchartered freedom tires; I feel the weight of chance-desires: My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose that ever is the same.
Page 62 - Man, not all alive nor dead, Nor all asleep — in his extreme old age: His body was bent double, feet and head Coming together in life's pilgrimage; As if some dire constraint of pain, or rage Of sickness felt by him in times long past, A more than human weight upon his frame had cast.

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