written by William WordsworthCalm is all nature as a resting wheel.
The kine are couched upon the dewy grass;
The horse alone, seen dimly as I pass,
Is cropping audibly his later meal:
Dark is the ground; a slumber seems to steal
O'er vale, and mountain, and the starless sky.
Now, in this blank of things, a harmony,
Home-felt, and home-created, comes to heal
That grief for which the senses still supply
Fresh food; for only then, when memory
Is hushed, am I at rest. My Friends! restrain
Those busy cares that would allay my pain;
Oh! leave me to myself, nor let me feel
The officious touch that makes me droop again.
William Wordsworth
written by William Wordsworth, published on Sat 09.13.2008 at 12:49
SMILE of the Moon!---for I so name
That silent greeting from above;
A gentle flash of light that came
written by William Wordsworth, published on Wed 09.10.2008 at 15:03
THREE years she grew in sun and shower;
Then Nature said, 'A lovelier flower
On earth was never sown;
written by William Wordsworth, published on Mon 09.08.2008 at 22:29
She was a phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely Apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament;
written by William Wordsworth, published on Thu 08.28.2008 at 04:31
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
written by William Wordsworth, published on Sat 08.23.2008 at 04:39
IT is not to be thought of that the flood
Of British freedom, which, to the open sea
Of the world's praise, from dark antiquity
written by William Wordsworth, published on Thu 08.21.2008 at 19:33
---------------------It seems a day
(I speak of one from many singled out)
One of those heavenly days that cannot die;
