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beautiful beneath bird bower breath bright brother brought called cheerful child clouds dark dead dear deep delight doth earth Edition eyes face fair Father fear feel fields flowers gone grave green hand happy hast hath head hear heard heart heaven hills hope hour human kind land leaves Leonard light lived look mind morning mountains nature never night once pain passed peace play pleasure poem Poet poor rest rock round seemed seen side sight silent sing sleep song soul sound spirit spring stone stood strong sweet thee things thou thou art thought took trees turned vale voice wild wind wish woods Wordsworth Written Youth
246 psl. - 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 waylay.
265 psl. - Will no one tell me what she sings ? Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago : Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day ? Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again ? Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang As if her song could have no ending ; I saw her singing at her work, And o'er the sickle bending ; I listened, motionless and still ; And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it...
371 psl. - 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.
309 psl. - Love had he found in huts where poor men lie ; His daily teachers had been woods and rills, The silence that is in the starry sky, The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
343 psl. - tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes. The birds around me hopped and played, Their thoughts I cannot measure : But the least motion which they made, It seemed a thrill of pleasure.
264 psl. - Reaper. Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; O listen! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound.
433 psl. - And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, Forebode not any * severing of our loves ! Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might ; I only have relinquished one delight To live beneath your more habitual sway. I love the Brooks which down their channels fret, Even more than when I tripped lightly as they...
315 psl. - The picture of the mind revives again: While here I stand, not only with the sense Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts That in this moment there is life and food For future years.
89 psl. - SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise, And very few to love. A Violet by a mossy stone Half-hidden from the eye ! Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky.
11 psl. - A simple Child, That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death ? I met a little cottage Girl : She was eight years old, she said ; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head. She had a rustic, woodland 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 1" " How many ? Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me.