The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth ...

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Little, Brown & Company, 1859

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Página 256 - Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good: Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow.
Página 231 - Nor less I deem that there are Powers Which of themselves our minds impress; That we can feed this mind of ours In a wise passiveness.
Página 156 - Scholars only — this immense And glorious Work of fine intelligence! Give all thou canst ; high Heaven rejects the lore Of nicely-calculated less or more ; So deemed the man who fashioned for the sense These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof Self-poised, and scooped into ten thousand cells, Where light and shade repose, where music dwells Lingering — and wandering on as loth to die; Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof That they were born for immortality.
Página 266 - There are who ask not if thine eye Be on them; who, in love and truth, Where no misgiving is, rely Upon the genial sense of youth: Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot; Who do thy work, and know it not: 0 if through confidence misplaced They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power, around them cast.
Página 256 - Blessings be with them — and eternal praise, Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares—- The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays ! Oh ! might my name be numbered among theirs, Then gladly would I end my mortal days.
Página 238 - His Master's dead, — and no one now Dwells in the Hall of Ivor ; Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead ; He is the sole survivor. And he is lean and he is sick ; His body, dwindled and awry, Rests upon ankles swoln and thick ; His legs are thin and dry.
Página 233 - One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can. Sweet is the lore which Nature brings ; Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things : — We murder to dissect. Enough of Science and of Art ; Close up those barren leaves ; Come forth, and bring with you a heart That watches and receives.
Página 264 - There sometimes doth a leaping fish Send through the tarn a lonely cheer; The crags repeat the raven's croak, In symphony austere...
Página 305 - UP to the throne of God is borne The voice of praise at early morn, And he accepts the punctual hymn Sung as the light of day grows dim. Nor will he turn his ear aside From holy offerings at noontide. Then here reposing let us raise A song of gratitude and praise.
Página 233 - LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING. I HEARD a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sat reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran ; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man. Through primrose tufts, in that...

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