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William Wordsworth
Quote #113
May no rude hand deface it, And its forlorn Hic jacet!
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Drink, pretty creature, drink!
Five years have passed; five summers, with the length Of five long winters! and again I hear These waters, rolling from their mountain-spri…
Something between a hindrance and a help.
These beauteous forms, Through a long absence, have not been to me As is a landscape to a blind man's eye: But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'm…
My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard. Thus fares it …
O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods, How often has my spirit turned to thee!
A youth to whom was given So much of earth-so much of heaven, And such impetuous blood.
And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought, With many recognitions dim and faint, And somewhat of a sad perplexity, The picture of t…
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