Such stores as silent thought can bring, O gentle Reader! you would find A tale in everything." Simon Lee With coldness still returning; Alas! the gratitude of men Hath oftener left me mourning." Ibid His little, nameless, unremembered acts Of kindness and of love." Lines completed a few miles above Tintern Abbey By myself a lonely pleasure,-- Sighed to think I read a book, Only read, perhaps, by me." To the Small Celandine In our dejection do we sink as low." Resolution and Independence Long after it was heard no more." The Solitary Reaper Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath." These Times strike Monied Worldlings The spirit of self-sacrifice; The confidence of reason give, And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live!" Ode to Duty One great society alone on earth: The noble living and the noble dead." The Prelude Book xi Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares!-- The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays." Personal Talk The soul that rises with us, our life's star, Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar. Not in entire forgetfulness, And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory, do we come From God, who is our home:" Intimations of Immortality Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower." Ibid Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears." Ibid And they whose hearts are dry as summer dust Burn to the socket." The Excursion Than when we soar." Ibid Heights which the soul is competent to gain." Ibid The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul." Laodamia Than strength of nerve or sinew, or the sway Of magic potent over sun and star, Is Love, though oft to agony distrest, And though his favorite seat be feeble woman's breast." Ibid Whose veil is unremoved Till heart with heart in concord beats, And the lover is beloved." To ------. Let other Bards of Angels sing Of humblest friends, bright creature! scorn not one: The daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun." To a Child. Written in her Album Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour Have passed away; less happy than the one That by the unwilling ploughshare died to prove The tender charm of poetry and love." Poems composed during a Tour in the Summer of 1833 Find little to perceive." Yes, Thou art Fair |