The Power of Armies Is a Visible Thing
The power of Armies is a visible thing,
Formal, and circumscribed in time and space;
But who the limits of that power shall trace
Which a brave People into light can bring
Or hide, at will,--for freedom combating
By just revenge inflamed? No foot may chase,
No eye can follow, to a fatal place
That power, that spirit, whether on the wing
Like the strong wind, or sleeping like the wind
Within its awful caves.--From year to year
Springs this indigenous produce far and near;
No craft this subtle element can bind,
Rising like water from the soil, to find
In every nook a lip that it may cheer.
William Wordsworth
D'autres poésies de William Wordsworth
"A Narrow Girdle of Rough Stones and Crags,"
A narrow girdle of rough stones and crags,
A rude and...
"A Whirl-Blast from Behind the Hill"
A Whirl-Blast from behind the hill
Rushed o'er the wood...
"Calm is all Nature as a Resting Wheel."
Calm is all nature as a resting wheel.
The kine are...
"I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud"
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er...
"It was an April morning: fresh and clear"
It was an April morning: fresh and clear
The Rivulet,...
"She Dwelt Among Untrodden Ways"
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs...
"She Was a Phantom of Delight"
She was a phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon...
"Strange Fits of Passion Have I Known"
Strange fits of passion have I known:
And I will dare to...
"Surprised by Joy--Impatient as the Wind"
Surprised by joy impatient as the Wind
I turned to share...
"The World Is To Much With Us; Late and Soon"
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting...
Précédentes poésies
Written on the Day that Mr Leigh Hunt Left Prison
What though, for showing truth to flattered state,
Kind...
Written on a Summer Evening
The church bells toll a melancholy round,
Calling the...
Written On A Blank Space At The End Of Chaucer's Tale Of The Flowre And The Lefe
This pleasant tale is like a little copse:
The honied...
Written on a Blank Space
This pleasant tale is like a little copse:
The honied...
Written Before Re-Reading King Lear
O golden-tongued Romance with serene lute!
Fair plumed...

