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What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind.
#Wordsworth250
#Wordsworth
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind.
#Wordsworth250
#Wordsworth
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 the philosophic mind.
And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves,
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 the philosophic mind.
And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves,
Forebode not any severing of our loves!
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;
I only have relinquish'd one delight
To live beneath your more habitual sway;
I love the brooks which down their channels fret
Even more than when I tripp'd lightly as they;
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;
I only have relinquish'd one delight
To live beneath your more habitual sway;
I love the brooks which down their channels fret
Even more than when I tripp'd lightly as they;
The innocent brightness of a new-born day
Is lovely yet;
The clouds that gather round the setting sun
Do take a sober colouring from an eye
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality;
Another race hath been, and other palms are won.
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Is lovely yet;
The clouds that gather round the setting sun
Do take a sober colouring from an eye
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality;
Another race hath been, and other palms are won.
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys,
and fears
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
-From Ode, Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood
#Wordsworth
#Wordsworth250
and fears
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
-From Ode, Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood
#Wordsworth
#Wordsworth250
