With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things.
Books! tis a dull and endless strife:Come, hear the woodland linnet,How sweet his music! on my life,There’s more of wisdom in it.
Though nothing can bring back the hourOf splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower;We will grieve not, rather findStrength in what remains behind;In the primal sympathyWhich having been must ever be…
Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star,Hath had elsewhere its setting,And cometh from afar:Not in entire forgetfulness,And not in utter nakedness,But trailing clouds of glory do we come
For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.
When from our better selves we have too longBeen parted by the hurrying world, and droop,Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired,How gracious, how benign, is Solitude
Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know,Are a substantial world, both pure and good:Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood,Our pastime and our happiness will grow.
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 will.
One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can.
Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
…The happy Warrior… is he… who, with a natural instinct to discern what knowledge can perform, is diligent to learn; abides by this resolve, and stops not there, but makes his moral being his prime care.
I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o’er vales and hills When all at once I saw a crowd A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake beneath the trees Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
I listen’d, motionless and still;And, as I mounted up the hill,The music in my heart I bore,Long after it was heard no more.
A simple child. That lightly draws its breath. And feels its life in every limb. What should it know of death?
Society has parted man from man, neglectful of the universal heart.
What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind.
But thou art with us, with us in the past,The present, with us in the times to come.There is no grief, no sorrow, no despair,No languor, no dejection, no dismay,No absence scarcely can there be, for thoseWho love as we do. Speed thee well!
But trailing clouds of glory do we come from God, who is our home.
Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark,And has the nature of infinity.
Go to the poets, they will speak to theeMore perfectly of purer creatures–
we not only wish to be pleased, but to be pleased in that particularway in which we have been accustomed to be pleased.
friend is the one who showes the way and walks a piece of road with us
A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable.
In ourselves our safety must be sought. By our own right hand it must be wrought.
Hence, in a season of calm weatherThough inland far we be,Our souls have sight of that immortal sea
Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
Is then no nook of English ground secureFrom rash assault?
To character and success two things contradictory as they may seem must go together-humble dependence and manly independence: humble dependence on God and manly reliance on self.
We must be free or die who speak the tongue That Shakespeare spake the faith and morals hold Which Milton held.
That best portion of a good man’s life His little nameless unremembered acts Of kindness and of love.
That best portion of a good man’s life His little nameless unremembered acts Of kindness and of love.
To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran And much it grieved my heart to think What Man has made of Man.
Come forth into the light of things. Let nature be your teacher.
My heart leaps up when I behold a rainbow in the sky.
A man he seems of cheerful yesterdays And confident tomorrows.
Fear is a cloak which old men huddle about their love as if to keep it warm.
To character and success two things contradictory as they may seem must go together-humble dependence and manly independence humble dependence on God and manly reliance on self.
She was a Phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight A lovely Apparition sent To be a moment’s ornament.
Every great and original writer in proportion as he is great and original must himself create the taste by which he is to be relished.
When from our better selves we have too long been parted by the hurrying world, and droop. Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, how gracious, how benign is solitude.
In modern business it is not the crook who is to be feared most, it is the honest man who doesn’t know what he is doing.
The best portion of a good man’s life is his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love.
Golf is a day spent in a round of strenuous idleness.
Come forth into the light of things, let nature be your teacher.
Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.
For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.
The world is too much with us; late and soon, getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours.
That though the radiance which was once so bright be now forever taken from my sight. Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, glory in the flower. We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.
I listened, motionless and still; And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.
But an old age serene and bright, and lovely as a Lapland night, shall lead thee to thy grave.
The mind that is wise mourns less for what age takes away than what it leaves behind.
That best portion of a man’s life, his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.
The flower that smells the sweetest is shy and lowly.
The human mind is capable of excitement without the application of gross and violent stimulants and he must have a very faint perception of its beauty and dignity who does not know this.
Pictures deface walls more often than they decorate them.
Wisdom is oftentimes nearer when we stoop than when we soar.
Life is divided into three terms – that which was, which is, and which will be. Let us learn from the past to profit by the present, and from the present, to live better in the future.
How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold.