The poetical works of William Wordsworth. New and complete annotated ed. Centenary ed, Issue 618, Volume 4

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Page 198 - 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.
Page 209 - He is retired as noontide dew, Or fountain in a noon-day grove ; And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love.
Page 234 - CHARACTER OF THE HAPPY WARRIOR. WHO is the happy Warrior ? Who is he That every man in arms should wish to be ? — It is the generous Spirit, who, when brought Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought Upon the plan that pleased his boyish thought...
Page 232 - Yet seek thy firm support, according to their need. I, loving freedom, and untried ; No sport of every random gust, Yet being to myself a guide, Too blindly have reposed my trust : And oft, when in my heart was heard Thy timely mandate, I deferred The task, in smoother walks to stray ; But thee I now would serve more strictly if I may.
Page 232 - Where no misgiving is, rely Upon the genial sense of youth; Glad hearts, without reproach or blot, Who do thy work and know it not: Oh!
Page 96 - And what, for this frail world, were all That mortals do or suffer, Did no responsive harp, no pen, Memorial tribute offer ? Yea, what were mighty Nature's self ; Her features, could they win us, Unhelped by the poetic voice That hourly speaks within us...
Page 284 - So fair, so sweet, withal so sensitive, Would that the little Flowers were born to live, Conscious of half the pleasure which they give ; That to this mountain-daisy's self were known The beauty of its star-shaped shadow, thrown On the smooth surface of this naked stone...
Page 196 - UP ! up ! my Friend, and quit your books ; Or surely you'll grow double : "Up ! up ! my Friend, and clear your looks ; Why all this toil and trouble...
Page 62 - THERE are no colours in the fairest sky So fair as these. The feather, whence the pen Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men, Dropped from an Angel's wing.
Page 229 - There sometimes doth a leaping fish Send through the tarn a lonely cheer; The crags repeat the raven's croak, In symphony austere...

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