For mightier far Than strength of nerve or sinew, or the sway Of magic potent over sun and star, Is love, though oft to agony distrest, And though his favourite be feeble woman’s breast.
O dearer far than light and life are dear.
While all the future, for thy purer soul, With “sober certainties” of love is blest.
Wild is the music of autumnal winds Amongst the faded woods.
Strongest minds are often those whom the noisy world hears least.
Like an army defeated the snow hath retreated.
My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began; So is it now I am a man;.
I’m not talking about a “show me other walls of this thing” button, I mean a “stumble” button for wallbase.
Imagination, which in truth Is but another name for absolute power And clearest insight, amplitude of mind, And reason, in her most exalted mood.
On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life, Musing is solitude.
Milton, in his hand The thing became a trumpet.
How is it that you live, and what is it you do?
The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone.
Great men have been among us; hands that penn’d And tongues that utter’d wisdom – better none.
Knowledge and increase of enduring joy From the great Nature that exists in works Of mighty Poets.
In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure, The heart luxuriates with indifferent things, Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones, And on the vacant air.
When men change swords for ledgers, and desert The student’s bower for gold, some fears unnamed I had, my Country – am I to be blamed?
Wisdom and spirit of the Universe!
Prompt to move but firm to wait – knowing things rashly sought are rarely found.
And I am happy when I sing.