Quotes
Quotes - Wordsworth
There's something in a flying horse,
There's something in a huge balloon.
The common growth of Mother Earth
Suffices me,--her tears, her mirth,
Her humblest mirth and tears.
Full twenty times was Peter feared,
For once that Peter was respected.
A primrose by a river's brim
A yellow primrose was to him,
And it was nothing more.
The soft blue sky did never melt
Into his heart; he never felt
The witchery of the soft blue sky!
On a fair prospect some have looked,
And felt, as I have heard them say,
As if the moving time had been
A thing as steadfast as the scene
On which they gazed themselves away.
As if the man had fixed his face,
In many a solitary place,
Against the wind and open sky!
One of those heavenly days that cannot die.
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,--
A maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love.
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye;
Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and oh
The difference to me!
The stars of midnight shall be dear
To her; and she shall lean her ear
In many a secret place
Where rivulets dance their wayward round,
And beauty born of murmuring sound
Shall pass into her face.
May no rude hand deface it,
And its forlorn hic jacet!
She gave me eyes, she gave me ears;
And humble cares, and delicate fears;
A heart, the fountain of sweet tears;
And love and thought and joy.
The child is father of the man.
The cattle are grazing,
Their heads never raising;
There are forty feeding like one!
Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.
Often have I sighed to measure
By myself a lonely pleasure,--
Sighed to think I read a book,
Only read, perhaps, by me.
As high as we have mounted in delight,
In our dejection do we sink as low.
But how can he expect that others should
Build for him, sow for him, and at his call
Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all?
I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy,
The sleepless soul that perished in his pride;
Of him who walked in glory and in joy,
Following his plough, along the mountain-side.
By our own spirits we are deified;
We Poets in our youth begin in gladness,
But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
That heareth not the loud winds when they call,
And moveth all together, if it moves at all.
Choice word and measured phrase above the reach
Of ordinary men.
And mighty poets in their misery dead.
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will;
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
