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affection appeared beauty became become blessing bright brother called character cheerful close clouds Coleridge companion continued cottage daughter dear death delight devoted Dorothy early earth feeling formed give given going Grasmere green happy head heart hills hope human influence interest kind lady lake Lamb leave letter light lines living look means memory mentioned mind Miss Wordsworth morning mountain Nature never night object once passed period pleasure poem poet poet's Quincey reference residence rest rock Rydal says scene seemed seen side sister soul speaks spirit stone sweet thee thing thou thought tion took tour trees vale voice walk whole wife wild wind wish woman wood worth writes written young
Page 97 - SHE was a Phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight; A lovely Apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament; Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair; Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair; But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful Dawn; A dancing Shape, an Image gay, To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.
Page 101 - I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. " Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay ; Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
Page 50 - 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...
Page 50 - My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch The language of my former heart, and read My former pleasures in the shooting lights Of thy wild eyes.
Page 119 - And seemliness complete, that sways Thy courtesies, about thee plays ; With no restraint, but such as springs From quick and eager visitings Of thoughts, that lie beyond the reach Of thy few words of English speech : A bondage sweetly brooked, a strife That gives thy gestures grace and life ! So have I, not unmoved in mind, Seen birds of tempest-loving kind Thus beating up against the wind.
Page 77 - I AM not One who much or oft delight To season my fireside with personal talk, — Of friends, who live within an easy walk, Or neighbours, daily, weekly, in my sight : And, for my chance-acquaintance, ladies bright, Sons, mothers, maidens withering on the stalk, These all wear out of me, like Forms, with chalk Painted on rich men's floors, for one feast-night. Better than such discourse doth silence long, Long, barren silence...
Page 118 - And these grey rocks; that household lawn; Those trees, a veil just half withdrawn; This fall of water that doth make A murmur near the silent lake...
Page 160 - O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, That I am meek and gentle with these butchers; Thou art the ruins of the noblest man That ever lived in the tide of times.
Page 48 - IT is the first mild day of March : Each minute sweeter than before The redbreast sings from the tall larch That stands beside our door. There is a blessing in the air, Which seems a sense, of joy to yield To the bare trees, and mountains bare, And grass in the green Held.