What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
Other editions - View all
accented alliteration bear beauty bird blow break breath bright Bryant cloud cold comes dark death deep dream earth emotion expression eyes face fair fall fate feel feet flow flowers foot friends give given golden green grow hand hear heard heart heaven hill honor hope human inspiration land language leaves light live look Lord lyric meter move nature never night o'er Ode to Duty Odes once pain pass past poem poet poetry rest rhyme round says seems seen sing smile song soon sorrow soul sound spirit stanza stars stream sweet syllable Take tears thee thine things thou thought true trust truth verse voice wandering weary wind wings woods Wordsworth
Page 63 - TO HELEN. Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore. On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece And the grandeur that was Rome.
Page 94 - Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire ; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. In the golden lightning « Of the sunken sun, O'er which clouds are bright'ning, Thou dost float and run ; Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.
Page 177 - Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil; Still, as the spiral grew, He left the past year's dwelling for the new. Stole with soft step its shining archway through, Built up its idle door, Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.
Page 128 - WHITHER, midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way ? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along.
Page 62 - A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; 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.
Page 97 - What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain ? What fields, or waves, or mountains ? What shapes of sky or plain ? What love of thine own kind ? what ignorance of pain ? ©de to a With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be: Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee : Thou lovest; but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.
Page 69 - I forget the hallowed grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met, To live one day of parting love ! Eternity will not efface Those records dear of transports past; Thy image at our last embrace; Ah ! little thought we 'twas our last! Ayr gurgling kissed his pebbled shore, O'erhung with wild woods, thick'ning, green ; The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, Twin'd amorous round the raptured scene.
Page 26 - With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread — Stitch — stitch — stitch ! In poverty, hunger, and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, — Would that its tone could reach the Rich ! She sang this " Song of the Shirt !
Page 52 - Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea ! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me ; While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.
Page 179 - Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides. Will no one tell me what she sings? — Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago: Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day? Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again?