The sonnets of William Wordsworth

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Página 79 - Roused though it be full often to a mood Which spurns the check of salutary bands, — • That this most famous stream in bogs and sands Should perish; and to evil and to good Be lost for ever.
Página 77 - Plain living and high thinking are no more: The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence, And pure religion breathing household laws.
Página 64 - Dreams, books, are each a world ; and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good : Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow...
Página 146 - A TROUBLE, not of clouds, or weeping rain, Nor of the setting sun's pathetic light Engendered, hangs o'er Eildon's triple height: Spirits of power, assembled there, complain For kindred power departing from their sight : While Tweed best pleased in chanting a blithe strain, Saddens his voice again, and yet again. Lift up your hearts, ye mourners! for the might Of the whole world's good wishes with him goes ; Blessings and prayers in nobler retinue Than sceptered king or laurelled conqueror knows,...
Página 84 - Tis well ! from this day forward we shall know That in ourselves our safety must be sought ; That by our own right hands it must be wrought, That we must stand unpropped, or be laid low.
Página 19 - High is our calling, Friend! Creative Art (Whether the instrument of words she use Or pencil pregnant with ethereal hues) Demands the service of a mind and heart, Though sensitive, yet, in their weakest part, Heroically fashioned — to infuse Faith in the whispers of the lonely Muse, • While the whole world seems adverse to desert.
Página 75 - TOUSSAINT, the most unhappy Man of Men ! Whether the whistling Rustic tend his plough Within thy hearing, or thy head be now Pillowed in some deep dungeon's earless den ;-- O miserable Chieftain ! where and when Wilt thou find patience...
Página 12 - Heaven-born, the Soul a heaven-ward course must hold ; Beyond the visible world She soars to seek, (For what delights the sense is false and weak) Ideal Form, the universal mould. The wise man, I affirm, can find no rest In that which perishes : nor will he lend His heart to aught which doth on time depend. 'Tis sense, unbridled will, and not true love, Which kills the soul: Love betters what is best, Even here below, but more in heaven above.
Página 12 - Thou shew to us Thine own true way No man can find it : Father! Thou must lead. Do Thou, then, breathe those thoughts into my mind By which such virtue may in me be bred That in Thy holy footsteps I may tread ; The fetters of my tongue do Thou unbind...
Página 146 - ON THE DEPARTURE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT FROM ABBOTSFORD, FOR NAPLES A TROUBLE, not of clouds, or weeping rain, Nor of the setting sun's pathetic light Engendered, hangs o'er Eildon's triple height : Spirits of Power, assembled there, complain For kindred Power departing from their sight ; While Tweed, best pleased in chanting a blithe strain, Saddens his voice again, and yet again. Lift up your hearts, ye Mourners ! for the might Of the whole world's good wishes with him goes ; Blessings and prayers,...

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