That inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude.
William Wordsworth (1770 - 1850)
Source: I wandered lonely.
Contributed by: Zaady
That mighty orb of song, The divine Milton.
Source: The Excursion. Book i.
Scorn not the sonnet. Critic, you have frowned, Mindless of its just honours; with this key Shakespeare unlocked his heart.
Source: Scorn not the Sonnet.
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.
O Reader! had you in your mind Such stores as silent thought can bring, O gentle Reader! you would find A tale in everything.
Source: Simon Lee.
A simple child That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death?
Source: We are Seven.
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