Visionary power attends the motions of the viewless winds, embodied in the mystery of words.
What though the radiance which was once so bright be not forever taken from my sight, though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; grief not, rather find, strength in what remains behind, in the primal sympathy which having been must ever be, in the soothing thoughts that spring out of Human suffering, In the faith that looks through death in years that bring philophic mind.
Never to blend our pleasure or our pride with sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.
O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird, or but a wandering voice?
Often have I sighed to measure by myself a lonely pleasure, sighed to think, I read a book only read, perhaps, by me.
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: The soul that rises with us, our life's star, Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar. Not in entire forgetfulness, And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory, do we come From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy.
Rapine, avarice, expense this is idolatry; and these we adore: 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.
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.
Stern Daughter of the Voice of God! O Duty! if that name thou love who art a light to guide, a rod to check the erring and reprove.
That best portion of a good man's life; His little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love.
The common growth of Mother Earth suffices me, -- her tears, her mirth, her humblest mirth and tears.
The human mind is capable of excitement without the application of gross and violent stimulants; and he must have a very faint perception of its beauty and dignity who does not know this.
The Poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society, as it is spread over the whole earth, and over all time.
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
There's not a nook within this solemn pass but were an apt confessional for one taught by his summer spent, his autumn gone, that life is but a tale of morning grass withered at eve.
Thou, while thy babes around thee cling, shalt show us how divine a thing a Woman may be made.
To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
We bow our heads before Thee, and we laud and magnify thy name Almighty God! But man is thy most awful instrument in working out a pure intent.
What we have loved, others will love, and we will teach them how; instruct them how the mind of man becomes a thousand times more beautiful than the earth on which he dwells...
No bird, but an invisible thing, a voice, a mystery.
O dearest, dearest boy! my heart for better lore would seldom yearn, could I but teach the hundredth part of what from thee I learn.
Oh for a single hour of that Dundee who on that day the word of onset gave!
Our meddlesome intellect misshapen the beauteous form of things.
Rapt into still communion that transcends the imperfect offices of prayer and praise.
Small circles glittering idly in the moon, until they melted all into one track of sparkling light.