Though inland far we be, our souls have sight of that immortal sea which brought us hither.
To the solid ground Of Nature trusts the mind that builds for aye.
We feel that we are greater than we know.
What we need is not the will to believe, but the wish to find out.
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...
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
We have within ourselves enough to fill the present day with joy, and overspread the future years with hope.
What, you are stepping westward?
No Nightingale did ever chant More welcome notes to weary bands Of travelers in some shady haunt, Among Arabian sands: A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird, Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebri.
O Nightingale, thou surely art/ A creature of a 'fiery heart'.
On a fair prospect some have looked, and felt, as i have heard them say, as if the moving time had been a thing as steadfast as the scene on which they gazed themselves away.
Pan himself, The simple shepherd's awe-inspiring god!