Others

Choice word and measured phrase, above the reach Of ordinary men.

The harvest of a quiet eye.

She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love: 2 A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! —Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and, oh, The difference to me!

Prophets of Nature, we to them will speak A lasting inspiration, sanctified By reason, blest by faith: what we have loved, Others will love, and we will teach them how; Instruct them how the mind of man becomes A thousand times more beautiful than the earth On which he dwells.

Fair seedtime had my soul, and I grew up Fostered alike by beauty and by fear.

Dust as we are, the immortal spirit grows Like harmony in music; there is a dark Inscrutable workmanship that reconciles Discordant elements, makes them cling together In one society.

Dust as we are, the immortal spirit grows Like harmony in music; there is a dark Inscrutable workmanship that reconciles Discordant elements, makes them cling together In one society.

Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their colors and their forms, were then to me An appetite; a feeling and a love, That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.

She is a winsome wee thing, She is a handsome wee thing, She is a lo’esome wee thing,

When Nature her great masterpiece design’d, And fram’d her last, best work, the human mind, Her eye intent on all the mazy plan, She form’d of various stuff the various Man.

The voice of Nature loudly cries, And many a message from the skies, That something in us never dies.

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, Flow gently, I’ll sing thee a song in thy praise. My Mary’s asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

O, my Luve is like a red, red rose, That’s newly sprung in June. O, my Luve is like the melodie, That’s sweetly played in tune.

Perhaps it may turn out a sang, Perhaps turn out a sermon.

Man was made for joy and woe, And when this we rightly know Through the world we safely go.

A truth that’s told with bad intent Beats all the lies you can invent.

To see a world in a grain of sand And a heaven in a wild flower, Hold infinity in the palm of your hand And eternity in an hour.

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire?

Hear the voice of the Bard! Who Present, Past, and Future sees, Whose ears have heard The Holy Word That walk’d among the ancient trees.

Abstinence sows sand all over The ruddy limbs and flaming hair, But Desire gratified Plants fruits of life and beauty there.

Truth can never be told so as to be understood, and not be believ’d.

Improvement makes straight roads; but the crooked roads without improvement are roads of genius.

Improvement makes straight roads; but the crooked roads without improvement are roads of genius.

You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough.