William Wordsworth

Great God! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn

Whether we be young or old,Our destiny, our being's heart and home,Is with infinitude, and only there;With hope it is, hope that can never die,Effort and expectation, and desire,And something evermore about to be.

And when a damp Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand The thing became a trumpet; whence he blew Soul-animating strains,-alas! too few.

Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither.

And the most difficult of tasks to keep Heights which the soul is competent to gain.

That kill the bloom before its time, And blanch, without the owner's crime, The most resplendent hair.

The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration.

Elysian beauty, melancholy grace, Brought from a pensive though a happy place.

The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion; the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, An appetite; a feeling and a love that had no need of a remoter charm by thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.

Wisdom married to immortal verse.

But thou that didst appear so fair To fond imagination, Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation.

At length the man perceives it die away, And fade into the light of common day.

Oh for a single hour of that Dundee Who on that day the word of onset gave!

She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and oh The difference to me!

There is One great society alone on earth: The noble living and the noble dead.

Sweet childish days, that were as long, As twenty days are now.

As thou these ashes, little brook, wilt bear _x000D_ Into the Avon, Avon to the tide _x000D_ Of Severn, Severn to the narrow seas, _x000D_ Into main ocean they, this deed accursed _x000D_ An emblem yields to friends and enemies _x000D_ How the bold teacher's doctrine, sanctified _x000D_ By truth, shall spread, throughout the world dispersed.

Up! up! my friend, and quit your books, Or surely you 'll grow double! Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks! Why all this toil and trouble?

But hushed be every thought that springs From out the bitterness of things.

Spade! Thou art a tool of honor in my hands. I press thee, through a yielding soil, with pride.

In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard seat And birds and flowers once more to greet. . . .