With hope it is, hope that can never die, effort, and expectation, and desire, and something evermore about to be.
Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
With Nature never do they wage a foolish strife; they see a happy youth, and their old age is beautiful and free.
Who he was that piled these stones, and with the mossy sod first covered, and here taught this aged tree with its dark arms to form a circling bower, i well remember. ? he was one who owned no common soul. In youth by science nursed. And led by nature into a wild scene of lofty hopes, he to the world went forth a favoured being, knowing no desire which genius did not hallow; 'gainst the taint of dissolute tongues, and jealousy, and hate, and scorn,? against all enemies prepared, all but neglect. The world, for so it thought, owed him no service; wherefore he at once with indignation turned himself away, and with the food of pride sustained his soul in solitude.
Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth? Come, blessed barrier between day and day, dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he that every man in arms should wish to be?
Worse than idle is compassion if it ends in tears and sighs.
Who swerves from innocence, who makes divorce of that serene companion, a good name, recovers not his loss; but walks with shame, with doubt, with fear, and haply with remorse.
Write to me frequently & the longest letters possible; never mind whether you have facts or no to communicate; fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
Who, doomed to go in company with Pain And Fear and Bloodshed,-miserable train!- Turns his necessity to glorious gain.
Written in Early Spring I heard a thousand blended notes While in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran; And much it grieved my heart to think What Man has made of Man.
No motion has she now, no force; she neither hears nor sees; rolled around in earth's diurnal course, with rocks, and stones, and trees.
O joy! that in our embers is something that doth live.
Oh, be wiser thou! Instructed that true knowledge leads to love.
Our noisy years seem moments in the being of the eternal silence.
Rest and be thankful.
Small service is true service, while it lasts.
Still longed for, never seen.
That kill the bloom before its time, And blanch, without the owner's crime, The most resplendent hair.
The dreary intercourse of daily life, shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb our cheerful faith, that all which we behold is full of blessings, Therefore let the moon shine on thee in thy solitary walk; and let the misty mountain-winds be free to blow against thee.
The intellectual power, through words and things, went sounding on, a dim and perilous way!
The primal duties shine aloft, like stars; The charities that soothe and heal and bless Are scattered at the feet of man like flowers.
The waves beside them danced; but they out-did the sparkling waves in glee: a poet could not but be gay, in such a jocund company.
There's something in a flying horse, there's something in a huge balloon; but through the clouds i'll never float until i have a little boat, shaped like the crescent-moon.
Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; we will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind; in the primal sympathy which having been must ever be...