The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth, Том 4

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Little, Brown, 1854

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Стр. 256 - Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good: Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow.
Стр. 231 - Nor less I deem that there are Powers Which of themselves our minds impress; That we can feed this mind of ours In a wise passiveness.
Стр. 232 - How sweet his music! on my life, There's more of wisdom in it. And hark! how blithe the throstle sings! He, too, is no mean preacher: Come forth into the light of things, Let Nature be your teacher.
Стр. 4 - It destroys likewise magnanimity, and the raising of human nature: for take an example of a dog, and mark what a generosity and courage he will put on, when he finds himself maintained by a man; who to him is instead of a God, or melior natura...
Стр. 256 - Blessings be with them — and eternal praise, Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares—- The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays ! Oh ! might my name be numbered among theirs, Then gladly would I end my mortal days.
Стр. 245 - He is retired as noontide dew, Or fountain in a noonday grove ; And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love.
Стр. 3 - Action is transitory — a step, a blow. The motion of a muscle — this way or that — 'Tis done, and in the after-vacancy We wonder at ourselves like men betrayed : Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.
Стр. 319 - So fair, so sweet, withal so sensitive, Would that the little Flowers were born to live, Conscious of half the pleasure which they give ; That to this mountain-daisy's self were known The beauty of its star-shaped shadow, thrown On the smooth surface of this naked stone...
Стр. 233 - I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man. Through primrose tufts, in that green bower, The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes.
Стр. 150 - FEOM low to high doth dissolution climb, And sink from high to low, along a scale Of awful notes, whose concord shall not fail ; A musical but melancholy chime, Which they can hear who meddle not with crime, Nor avarice, nor over-anxious care. Truth fails not ; but her outward forms that bear The longest date do melt like frosty rime...

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