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Alfoxden babe Beneath Betty birds body bright child close cold Composed dead dear deep door dreadful edition eyes face fair father fear feel five gone Goody green hand happy Harry hath head hear heard heart Heaven hill hour idiot boy Johnny light limbs lines live looks Lyrical Ballads Marinere mind moon moonlight mother mountain nature never night o'er once pain perhaps pleasure poem pony poor pray round seemed seen seven Ship side silent soon soul sound spirit stand stanza stars stood strange Susan sweet tale tears tell thee There's things thorn thou thought till tree turned Twas voice wide wild wind wish woman wood Wordsworth written young youth
206 psl. - For I have learned To look on Nature, not as in the hour Of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity, Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power To chasten and subdue.
208 psl. - Nor perchance, If I were not thus taught, should I the more Suffer my genial spirits to decay : For thou art with me here upon the banks Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend, 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.
66 psl. - Tis the merry Nightingale That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates With fast thick warble his delicious notes, As he were fearful that an April night Would be too short for him to utter forth His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul Of all its music...
210 psl. - And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance If I should be where I no more can hear Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams Of past existence...
202 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...
44 psl. - How loudly his sweet voice he rears ! He loves to talk with marineres That come from a far countree. He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve He hath a cushion plump: It is the moss that wholly hides The rotted old oak-stump. The skiff-boat neared: I heard them talk, 'Why, this is strange, I trow! Where are those lights so many and fair, That signal made but now?
112 psl. - And often after sun-set, Sir, When it is light and fair, I take my little porringer, And eat my supper there.
ix psl. - In the one the incidents and agents were to be, in part at least, supernatural ; and the excellence aimed at was to consist in the interesting of the affections by the dramatic truth of such emotions as would naturally accompany such situations, supposing them real.
xii psl. - Poems was to choose incidents and situations from common life, and to relate or describe them, throughout, as far as was possible in a selection of language really used by men, and, at the same time, to throw over them a certain colouring of imagination, whereby ordinary things should be presented to the mind in an unusual aspect...
110 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. 74 75 "Sisters and brothers, little Maid, How many may you be ? " " How many? Seven in all," she said And wondering looked at me.