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Page 262 - The principal object, then, proposed in these poems was to choose incidents and situations from common life, and to relate or describe them, throughout, as far as was possible in a selection of language really used by men...
Page 272 - Did he repair, to build the Fold of which His flock had need. 'Tis not forgotten yet The pity which was then in every heart For the old Man — and 'tis believed by all That many and many a day he thither went, And never lifted up a single stone.
Page 264 - O the one life within us and abroad, Which meets all motion and becomes its soul, A light in sound, a sound-like power in light Rhythm in all thought, and joyance...
Page 298 - A populous .solitude of bees and birds, And fairy-form'd and many-colour'd things, Who worship him with notes more sweet than words, And innocently open their glad wings, Fearless and full of life : the gush of springs, And fall of lofty fountains, and the bend Of stirring branches, and the bud which brings The swiftest thought of beauty, here extend, Mingling, and made by Love, unto one mighty end.
Page 215 - t depends Not on the number, but the choice of friends. Books should, not business, entertain the light, And sleep, as undisturbed as death, the night. My house a cottage, more Than palace, and should fitting be For all my use, no luxury. My garden painted o'er With Nature's hand, not Art's ; and pleasures yield, Horace might envy in his Sabine field.
Page 429 - Now fast up the dell came the noise and the fray, The horse and the horn, and the hark ! hark away ! Old Timothy took up his staff, and he shut With a leisurely motion the door of his hut. Perhaps to himself at that moment he said ; " The key I must take, for my Ellen is dead.
Page 298 - The one was fire and fickleness, a child Most mutable in wishes, but in mind A wit as various, — gay, grave, sage, or wild, — Historian, bard, philosopher combined : He multiplied himself among mankind, The Proteus of their talents : But his own * Voltaire and Gibbon.
Page 261 - But for those first affections, Those shadowy recollections, Which, be they what they may, Are yet the fountain light of all our day, Are yet a master light of all our seeing; Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake, To perish never; Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour, Nor Man nor Boy, Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Can utterly abolish or destroy!
Page 217 - I confess, I love littleness almost in all things. A little convenient estate, a little cheerful house, a little company, and a very little feast ; and, if I were ever to fall in love again (which is a great passion, and, therefore, I hope, I have done with it) it would be, I think, with prettiness, rather than with majestical beauty.