Oft in my way have I stood still, though but a casual passenger, so much I felt the awfulness of life.
Of friends, however humble, scorn not one.
A multitude of causes unknown to former times are now acting with a combined force to blunt the discriminating powers of the mind, and unfitting it for all voluntary exertion to reduce it to a state of almost savage torpor.
Poetry is emotion recollected in tranquillity.
Thou unassuming common-place of Nature, with that homely face.
That blessed mood in which the burthen of the mystery, in which the heavy and the weary weight of all this unintelligible world is lightened.
Who, doomed to go in company with Pain And Fear and Bloodshed,-miserable train!- Turns his necessity to glorious gain.
Whom neither shape of danger can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray.
The Poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society.
A cheerful life is what the Muses love. A soaring spirit is their prime delight.
Not Chaos, not the darkest pit of lowest Erebus, nor aught of blinder vacancy, scooped out by help of dreams – can breed such fear and awe as fall upon us often when we look into our Minds, into the Mind of Man.
She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love.
Small service is true service, while it lasts.
Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will; Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still!
Sweet Mercy! to the gates of heaven This minstrel lead, his sins forgiven; The rueful conflict, the heart riven With vain endeavour, And memory of Earth’s bitter leaven Effaced forever.
Scorn not the sonnet. Critic, you have frowned, Mindless of its just honours; with this key Shakespeare unlocked his heart.
Hearing often-times the still, sad music of humanity, nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power to chasten and subdue.
With battlements that on their restless fronts Bore stars.
Serene will be our days, and bright and happy will our nature be, when love is an unerring light, and joy its own security.
Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice; The confidence of reason give, And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live!