A noticeable Man with large gray eyes.

Stanzas written in Thomson.

She dwelt among the untrodden ways

Beside the springs of Dove,

A maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love.

A violet by a mossy stone

She dwelt among the untrodden ways.

Ere with cold beads of midnight dew.

True beauty dwells in deep retreats,

Whose veil is unremoved

Till heart with heart in concord beats,

And the lover is beloved.

Minds that have nothing to confer

Find little to perceive.

That kill the bloom before its time;

And blanch, without the owner's crime,

Το

Yes! thou art fair.

The most resplendent hair. Lament of Mary Queen of Scots.

The bane of all that dread the Devil.

The Idiot Boy.

Michael.

Something between a hindrance and a help.

Lady of the Mere,

Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance.

A narrow girdle of rough stones.

But He is risen, a later star of dawn. A Morning Exercise.

Bright gem instinct with music, vocal spark.

And he is oft the wisest man,

Who is not wise at all.

Ibid.

The Oak and the Broom.

We meet thee, like a pleasant thought,
When such are wanted.

The poet's darling.

Thou unassuming Commonplace
Of Nature.

Oft on the dappled turf at ease
I sit, and play with similes,

To the Daisy.

Ibid.

To the same Flower.

Loose types of things through all degrees.

Often have I sighed to measure
By myself a lonely pleasure,
Sighed to think I read a book,
Only read, perhaps, by me.

O Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird,

Or but a wandering voice?

Ibid.

To the Small Celandine.

To the Cuckoo.

One of those heavenly days that cannot die.

She was a Phantom of delight

When first she gleamed upon my sight;

A lovely apparition, sent

To be a moment's ornament.

Nutting.

She was a Phantom of delight.

But all things else about her drawn

From May-time and the cheerful Dawn.

Ibid.

A Creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food;

For transient sorrows, simple wiles,

Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

Ibid.

The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect Woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command.

She was a Phantom of delight.

The stars of midnight shall be dear
To her; and she shall lean her ear

In many a secret place

Where rivulets dance their wayward round,
And beauty born of murmuring sound

Shall pass into her face.

Three years she grew.

That inward eye

I wandered lonely.

Which is the bliss of solitude.

The cattle are grazing,
Their heads never raising;
There are forty feeding like one!

A Youth to whom was given

So much of earth, so much of heaven.

As high as we have mounted in delight
In our dejection do we sink as low.

Written in March.

Ruth.

Resolution and Independence. Stanza 4.

But how can he expect that others should
Build for him, sow for him, and at his call

Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all?

I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous Boy,
The sleepless Soul that perished in his pride;
Of him who walked in glory and in joy,
Following his plough, along the mountain-side:
By our own spirits we are deified:

We Poets in our youth begin in gladness;

Stanza 6.

But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.

Stanza 7.

Choice word and measured phrase above the reach
Resolution and Independence. Stanza 14.

Of ordinary men.
And mighty Poets in their misery dead.

"A jolly place," said he, "in times of old!
But something ails it now: the spot is cursed."
Hart-Leap Well.

Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.

Never to blend our pleasure, or our pride,
With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.

Sensations sweet,

Stanza 17.

Part ii.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart. Tintern Abbey.

That best portion of a good man's life,

His little, nameless, unremembered acts

Of kindness and of love.

That blessed mood,

In which the burden of the mystery,

In which the heavy and the weary weight

Of all this unintelligible world,

Is lightened.

Ibid.

Ibid.

The fretful stir

Ibid.

Unprofitable, and the fever of the world,
Have hung upon the beatings of my heart.

The sounding cataract

Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,

The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colours and their forms, were then to me
An appetite; a feeling and a love,
That had no need of a remoter charm
By thoughts supplied, nor any interest
Unborrowed from the eye.

Ibid.

But hearing oftentimes

The still, sad music of humanity.

A sense sublime

Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean, and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man:
A motion and a spirit, that impels

Tintern Abbey.

All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things.

Ibid.

Knowing that Nature never did betray

The heart that loved her.

Ibid.

Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life.

Ibid.

The silence that is in the starry sky.

Song at the Feast of Brougham Castle.

Yes, it was the mountain Echo.

Like, but oh! how different!

Type of the wise who soar, but never roam;
True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home.

The Gods approve

The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul.

Mightier far

To a Skylark.

Than strength of nerve or sinew, or the sway

Of magic potent over sun and star,

Is love, though oft to agony distrest,

Laodamia.

And though his favorite seat be feeble woman's breast.

Elysian beauty, melancholy grace,

Ibid.

Brought from a pensive, through a happy place. Ibid.