That mighty orb of song, The divine Milton.
William Wordsworth (1770 - 1850)
Source: The Excursion. Book i.
Contributed by: Zaady
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.
And the most difficult of tasks to keep Heights which the soul is competent to gain.
Source: The Excursion. Book iv.
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.
How many undervalue the power of simplicity ! But it is the real key to the heart.
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