Scorn not the sonnet. Critic, you have frowned, Mindless of its just honours; with this key Shakespeare unlocked his heart.
William Wordsworth (1770 - 1850)
Source: Scorn not the Sonnet.
Contributed by: Zaady
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain That has been, and may be again.
Source: The Solitary Reaper.
A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
Source: She was a Phantom of Delight.
Spade! with which Wilkinson hath tilled his lands, And shaped these pleasant walks by Emont's side, Thou art a tool of honor in my hands, I press thee, through a yielding soil, with pride.
Spires whose "silent finger points to heaven."
Source: The Excursion. Book vi.
But shapes that come not at an earthly call Will not depart when mortal voices bid.
And the most difficult of tasks to keep Heights which the soul is competent to gain.
Source: The Excursion. Book iv.
And when the stream Which overflowed the soul was passed away, A consciousness remained that it had left Deposited upon the silent shore Of memory images and precious thoughts That shall not die, and cannot be destroyed.
Source: The Excursion. Book vii.
How many undervalue the power of simplicity ! But it is the real key to the heart.
Society became my glittering bride, And airy hopes my children.
Source: The Excursion. Book iii.
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