Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain That has been, and may be again.
She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love.
When from our better selves we have too long been parted by the hurrying world, and droop. Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, how gracious, how benign in solitude.
Life is divided into three terms -- that which was, which is, and which will be. Let us learn from the past to profit by the present, and from the present to live better in the future.
Faith is a passionate intuition.
Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry; and these we adore; Plain living and high thinking are no more.
That though the radiance which was once so bright be now forever taken from my sight. Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, glory in the flower. We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.
In modern business it is not the crook who is to be feared most, it is the honest man who doesn't know what he is doing.
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
The world is too much with us; late and soon, getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours.
Longer Version:
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not.--Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.
Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.
Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.
How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold.
For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.
Pictures deface walls more often than they decorate them.
Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.
Come forth into the light of things, let nature be your teacher.
Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
What we need is not the will to believe, but the wish to find out.
To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
Nature never did betray the heart that loved her.