The poetical works of William Wordsworth, Volume 2

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Little, Brown and company, 1854
 

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Página 126 - 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.
Página 191 - With quietness and beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all The dreary intercourse of daily life, : • :. • . , Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold Is full of blessings.
Página 191 - Oh ! then, If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief, Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts Of tender joy wilt thou remember me, And these my exhortations ! Nor, perchance, If I should be where I no more can hear Thy voice...
Página 187 - Is lightened : — that serene and blessed mood, In which the affections gently lead us on, — • Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul : While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.
Página 130 - A SLUMBER did my spirit seal ; I had no human fears : She seemed a thing that could not feel The touch of earthly years. No motion has she now, no force ; She neither hears nor sees ; Rolled round in earth's diurnal course, With rocks, and stones, and trees.
Página 128 - Three years she grew in sun and shower, Then Nature said, "A lovelier flower On earth was never sown ; This Child I to myself will take; She shall be mine, and I will make A Lady of my own.
Página 341 - This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for everything, we are out of tune; It moves us not.
Página 336 - Thou art the seed, That quickens only where Thou say'st it may : Unless Thou show to us thine own true way No man can find it ; Father! Thou must lead.
Página 122 - Not loth to furnish weapons for the Bands Of Umfraville or Percy ere they marched To Scotland's Heaths ; or Those that crossed the Sea And drew their sounding bows at Azincour, Perhaps at earlier Crecy, or Poictiers. Of vast circumference and gloom profound This solitary Tree ! — a living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay ; Of form and aspect too magnificent To be destroyed.
Página 320 - NUNS fret not at their Convent's narrow room ; And Hermits are contented with their Cells ; And Students with their pensive Citadels : Maids at the Wheel, the Weaver at his Loom, Sit blithe and happy; Bees that soar for bloom, High as the highest Pea.k of Furness Fells, Will murmur by the hour in Foxglove bells : In truth, the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is...

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