Selections from Wordsworth

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J.F. Fletcher, 1885 - 282 стор.
 

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Сторінка 197 - The outward shows of sky and earth, Of hill and valley, he has viewed; And impulses of deeper birth Have come to him in solitude. In common things that round us lie Some random truths he can impart, — The harvest of a quiet eye That broods and sleeps on his own heart.
Сторінка 12 - Ye that pipe and ye that play, Ye that through your hearts to-day Feel the gladness of the May...
Сторінка 237 - 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: Oh!
Сторінка 201 - tis a dull and endless strife : Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music ! on my life, There's more of wisdom in it. And hark ! how blithe the throstle sings ! He, too, is no mean preacher :^ Come forth into the light of things, Let Nature be your teacher.
Сторінка 186 - If this Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft In darkness and amid the many shapes Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world, Have hung upon the beatings of my heart — How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee, 0 sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods, How often has my spirit turned to thee!
Сторінка 117 - But worthier still of note Are those fraternal Four of Borrowdale, Joined in one solemn and capacious grove; Huge trunks! and each particular trunk a growth Of intertwisted fibres serpentine Up-coiling, and inveterately convolved; Nor uniformed with Phantasy, and looks That threaten the profane...
Сторінка 238 - 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: Flowers laugh before thee on their beds And fragrance in thy footing treads; Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong; And the most ancient heavens, through thee, Are fresh and strong.
Сторінка 12 - THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream. The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore ; — Turn wheresoe'er I may, By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
Сторінка 201 - The sun, above the mountain's head, A freshening lustre mellow Through all the long green fields has spread, His first sweet evening yellow. Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife: Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music! on my life, There's more of wisdom in it.
Сторінка 187 - Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods And mountains; and of all that we behold From this green earth ; of all the mighty world Of eye and ear, both what they half create, And what perceive; well pleased to recognize, In nature and the language of the sense, The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul Of all my moral being.

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