Two Voices are there; one is of the sea, one of the mountains; each a mighty Voice.
We not only wish to be pleased, but to be pleased in that particular way in which we have been accustomed to be pleased.
Not Chaos, not the darkest pit of lowest Erebus, nor aught of blinder vacancy, scooped out by help of dreams --can breed such fear and awe as fall upon us often when we look into our Minds, into the Mind of Man.
Ocean is a mighty harmonist.
One in whom persuasion and belief had ripened into faith, and faith become a passionate intuition.
Plain living and high thinking are no more. The homely beauty of the good old cause is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence, And pure religion breathing household laws.
Shalt show us how divine a thing A woman may be made.
Society has parted man from man, neglectful of the universal heart.
Surprised by joy- impatient as the Wind I turned to share the transport-- Oh! with whom but thee, deep buried in the silent tomb, that spot which no vicissitude can find? Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind--but how could I forget thee? Through what power, even for the least division of an hour, have I been so beguiled as to be blind to my most grievous loss? -- That thought's return was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore, save one, one only, when I stood forlorn, knowing my heart's best treasure was no more; that neither present time, nor years unborn could to my sight that heavenly face restore.
The best of what we do and are, just God, forgive!
The flower that smells the sweetest is shy and lowly.
The man whose eye is ever on himself doth look on one, the least of Nature's works, one who might move the wise man to that scorn which wisdom holds unlawful, ever. O, be wiser, Thou! Instructed that true knowledge leads to love; true dignity abides with him alone who, in the silent hour of inward thought, can still suspect, and still revere himself, in loneliness of heart.
The sightless Milton, with his hair around his placid temples curled; and Shakespeare at his side,?a freight, if clay could think and mind were weight, for him who bore the world!
There is a dark invisible workmanship - that reconciles discordant elements - and makes them move in one society
This dull product of a scoffer's pen.
Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower, The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes.
Type of the wise who soar but never roam, True to the kindred points of heaven and home.
We should see the earth unthwarted in her wish to recompense the industrious,
Not in entire forgetfulness, And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory do we come from God, who is our home.
O'er rough and smooth she trips along, and never looks behind;/ And sings a solitary song/ That whistles in the wind.
One Lesson, Shepherd, let us two divide, taught both by what she shews, and what conceals, never to blend our pleasure or our pride with sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.
Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene, the work of Fancy, or some happy tone of meditation, slipping in between the beauty coming and the beauty gone.
She died, and left to me this heath, this calm and quiet scene, the memory of what has been, and never more will be.
Soft is the music that would charm forever; the flower of sweetest smell is shy and lowly.
Sweet childish days, that were as long as twenty days are now.