The moving accident is not my trade; To freeze the blood I have no ready arts: 'Tis my delight, alone in summer… — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
Plain living and high thinking are no more. The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone; our peace, our fearful… — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man. — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
Through primrose tufts, in that green bower, The periwinkle trails its wreath; And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air… — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
The softest breeze to fairest flowers gives birth: Think not that Prudence dwells in dark abodes, She scans the future with the… — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
my brain Worked with a dim and undetermined sense Of unknown modes of being; o'er my thoughts There hung a darkness, call… — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
in the mind of man, A motion and a spirit, that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls… — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
Often have I sighed to measure By myself a lonely pleasure,- Sighed to think I read a book, Only read, perhaps, by… — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
Careless of books, yet having felt the power Of Nature, by the gentle agency Of natural objects, led me on to feel… — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry; and these we adore; Plain living and high thinking are no more. — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
The sightless Milton, with his hair Around his placid temples curled; And Shakespeare at his side,-a freight, If clay could think and… — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
Spade! Thou art a tool of honor in my hands. I press thee, through a yielding soil, with pride. — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
Brothers all In honour, as in one community, Scholars and gentlemen. — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
The eye— it cannot choose but see; we cannot bid the ear be still; our bodies feel, where'er they be, against or with our… — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
“Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good.” — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
Now when the primrose makes a splendid show, And lilies face the March-winds in full blow, And humbler growths as moved with one desire… — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
“Where are your books? - that light bequeathed To beings else forlorn and blind! Up! up! and drink the spirit breathed From dead men… — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
Knowledge and increase of enduring joy From the great Nature that exists in works Of mighty Poets. — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
The common growth of Mother Earth Suffices me,-her tears, her mirth, Her humblest mirth and tears. — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
“She was a Phantom of delight When first she gleam'd upon my sight; A lovely Apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament: Her eyes… — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
“If the time should ever come when what is now called science, thus familiarised to men, shall be ready to put on, as it… — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
