No human ear shall ever hear me speak; No human dwelling ever give me food, Or sleep, or rest but, over waste and wild, In search of nothing, that this earth can give, But expiation, will I wander on --A Man by pain and thought compelled to live, Yet loathing life -- till anger is appeased; In Heaven, and Mercy gives me leave to die. (William Wordsworth)
Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves Of their bad influence, and their good receives. (William Wordsworth)
Blessings be with them, and eternal praise, Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays. (William Wordsworth)
And yet not choice but habit rules the unreflecting herd. (William Wordsworth)
How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold. (William Wordsworth)
Those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings, Blank misgivings of a creature Moving about in worlds not realized, High instincts before which our mortal nature Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised. (William Wordsworth)
Come forth into the light of things, let nature be your teacher. (William Wordsworth)
A slumber did my spirit seal; I had no human fears; She seemed a thing that could not feel; The touch of earthly years. No motion has she now, no force; She neither hears nor sees; Rolled round in earth's diurnal course. . . (William Wordsworth)
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