written by William WordsworthThe peace which other seek they find;
The heaviest storms not longet last;
Heaven grants even to the guiltiest mind
An amnesty for what is past;
When will my sentence be reversed?
I only pray to know the worst;
And wish as if my heart would burst.
O weary struggle! silent year
Tell seemingly no doubtful tale;
And yet they leave it short, and fear
And hopes are strong and will prevail.
My calmest faith escapes not pain;
And, feeling that the hope in vain,
I think that he will come again.
William Wordsworth
written by William Wordsworth, published on Fri 01.21.2011 at 19:27
A narrow girdle of rough stones and crags,
A rude and natural causeway, interposed
Between the water and a winding slope
written by William Wordsworth, published on Sun 01.16.2011 at 13:51
I know an aged Man constrained to dwell
In a large house of public charity,
Where he abides, as in a Prisoner's cell,
written by William Wordsworth, published on Thu 01.06.2011 at 17:46
Though the torrents from their fountains
Roar down many a craggy steep,
Yet they find among the mountains
written by William Wordsworth, published on Sat 12.25.2010 at 04:50
.Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes
To pace the ground, if path be there or none,
written by William Wordsworth, published on Wed 12.22.2010 at 10:54
IT is a beauteous evening, calm and free,
The holy time is quiet as a Nun
Breathless with adoration; the broad sun
written by William Wordsworth, published on Thu 12.16.2010 at 23:37
At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears,
Hangs a Thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three years:
