Quote #17
Every gift of noble origin Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath.
More from William Wordsworth
- Pleasures newly found are sweet When they lie about our feet.
- Hail to thee, far above the rest In joy of voice and pinion! Thou, linnet! in thy green array, Presiding spirit here to-day, Dost lead the …
- O for a single hour of that Dundee, Who on that day the word of onset gave!
- Lady of the Mere, Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance.
- Rapine, avarice, expense This is idolatry; and these we adore: Plain living and high thinking are no more: The homely beauty of the good ol…
- There is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale, Which to this day stands single, in the midst Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore.
- Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will: Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that might…
- Of vast circumference and gloom profound, This solitary Tree! A living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay; Of form and aspect too magn…