William Wordsworth

O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird, Or but a wandering voice?

Since thy return, through days and weeks_x000D_ _x000D_ Of hope that grew by stealth,_x000D_ _x000D_ How many wan and faded cheeks_x000D_ _x000D_ Have kindled into health!_x000D_ _x000D_ The Old, by thee revived, have said,_x000D_ _x000D_ 'Another year is ours;'_x000D_ _x000D_ And wayworn Wanderers, poorly fed,_x000D_ _x000D_ Have smiled upon thy flowers.

Even thus last night, and two nights more I lay,_x000D_ _x000D_ And could not win thee, Sleep, by any stealth:_x000D_ _x000D_ So do not let me wear to-night away._x000D_ _x000D_ Without thee what is all the morning's wealth?_x000D_ _x000D_ Come, blessed barrier between day and day,_x000D_ _x000D_ Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!

Wrongs unredressed, or insults unavenged.

He spake of love, such love as spirits feel In worlds whose course is equable and pure; No fears to beat away, no strife to heal,- The past unsighed for, and the future sure.

How many undervalue the power of simplicity ! But it is the real key to the heart.

Sweet Mercy! to the gates of heaven This minstrel lead, his sins forgiven; The rueful conflict, the heart riven With vain endeavour, And memory of Earth's bitter leaven Effaced forever.

Have I not reason to lament _x000D_ What man has made of man?

Small service is true service, while it lasts.

A cheerful life is what the Muses love. A soaring spirit is their prime delight.

Hearing often-times the still, sad music of humanity, nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power to chasten and subdue.

Truths that wake_x000D_ _x000D_ To perish never

One in whom persuasion and belief_x000D_ _x000D_ Had ripened into faith, and faith become_x000D_ _x000D_ A passionate intuition.

Nor less I deem that there are Powers_x000D_ _x000D_ Which of themselves our minds impress;_x000D_ _x000D_ That we can feed this mind of ours_x000D_ _x000D_ In a wise passiveness

Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.

Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice; The confidence of reason give, And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live!

Huge and mighty forms that do not live like living men, moved slowly through the mind by day and were trouble to my dreams.

We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.

Departing summer hath assumed_x000D_ _x000D_ An aspect tenderly illumed,_x000D_ _x000D_ The gentlest look of spring;_x000D_ _x000D_ That calls from yonder leafy shade_x000D_ _x000D_ Unfaded, yet prepared to fade,_x000D_ _x000D_ A timely carolling.

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;_x000D_ _x000D_ Our meddling intellect_x000D_ _x000D_ Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things_x000D_ _x000D_ We murder to dissect._x000D_ _x000D_ Enough of Science and of Art;_x000D_ _x000D_ Close up these barren leaves;_x000D_ _x000D_ Come forth, and bring with you a heart_x000D_ _x000D_ That watches and receives.

Since every mortal power of Coleridge Was frozen at its marvellous source, The rapt one, of the godlike forehead, The heaven-eyed creature sleeps in earth: And Lamb, the frolic and the gentle, Has vanished from his lonely hearth.