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appear arms beneath breath called changes child close composed cottage dark dear deep door earth edition eyes face fair Father fear feel fire give green hand happy head hear heard heart heaven hill hope hour human Idon lake land leaves light lines live look MARMADUKE mind moon morn mountain move Nature never night o'er once Oswald pain passed plain pleasure poem poor printed published rest road rocks round scene seems seen shade side sight silent smile Sonnet soul sound spirit stands steeps stream tears tell thee things thou thought till traveller tree turned vale village voice volume walk wild wind wish woods Wordsworth written
266 psl. - These beauteous forms Through a long absence have not been to me As is a landscape to a blind man's eye : But oft. in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din Of towns and cities, I have owed to them, In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart ; And passing even into my purer mind With tranquil restoration...
231 psl. - LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING. I HEARD a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sate 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.
265 psl. - That on a wild secluded scene impress Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect The landscape with the quiet of the sky.
196 psl. - ... mountain ascending, a vision of trees ; Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide, And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside. Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale, Down which she so often has tripped with her pail, And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's, The one only dwelling on earth that she loves. She looks, and her heart is in heaven : but they fade, The mist and the river, the hill and the shade : The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise,...
238 psl. - 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 i He, too, is no mean preacher : Come forth into the light of things, Let Nature be your teacher.
200 psl. - 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. 22 " Sisters and brothers, little Maid, How many may you be?" " How many ? Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me.
231 psl. - The tears into his eyes were brought. And thanks and praises seemed to run So fast out of his heart, I thought They never would have done. I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds With coldness still returning; Alas! the gratitude of men Hath oftener left me mourning.
238 psl. - Come forth into the light of things, Let Nature be your teacher. She has a world of ready wealth, Our minds and hearts to bless Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health, Truth breathed by cheerfulness. One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can.
202 psl. - So in the church-yard she was laid; And, when the grass was dry, Together round her grave we played, My brother John and I. "And when the ground was white with snow, And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go, And he lies by her side." "How many are you, then," said I, "If they two are in heaven?