All that we behold is full of blessings.
William Wordsworth (1770 - 1850)
Contributed by: Zaady
The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion; the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, An appetite; a feeling and a love that had no need of a remoter charm by thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will; Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still!
Source: Earth has not anything to show more fair.
Of all that is most beauteous, imaged there In happier beauty; more pellucid streams, An ampler ether, a diviner air, And fields invested with purpureal gleams.
Of blessed consolations in distress.
Source: Preface to the Excursion. (Edition, 1814.)
Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit, and play with similes, Loose type of things through all degrees.
Source: To the same Flower.
Often have I sighed to measure By myself a lonely pleasure,- Sighed to think I read a book, Only read, perhaps, by me.
Source: To the Small Celandine.
Oh, be wiser thou! Instructed that true knowledge leads to love.
Source: Lines left upon a Seat in a Yew-tree.
Oh for a single hour of that Dundee Who on that day the word of onset gave!
Source: Sonnet, in the Pass of Killicranky.
That heareth not the loud winds when they call, And moveth all together, if it moves at all.
Source: Resolution and Independence. Stanza 11.
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