When from our better selves we have too long been parted by the hurrying world, and droop. Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, how gracious, how benign in solitude.

With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things.

Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.

When from our better selves we have too long been parted by the hurrying world, and droop. Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, how gracious, how benign in solitude.

Faith is a passionate intuition.

The world is too much with us; late and soon, getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours.

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers.

The ocean is a mighty harmonist.

That though the radiance which was once so bright be now forever taken from my sight. Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, glory in the flower. We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.

To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

The best portion of a good man's life is his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love.

One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can.

I listened, motionless and still; And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.

Come forth into the light of things, let nature be your teacher.

The human mind is capable of excitement without the application of gross and violent stimulants; and he must have a very faint perception of its beauty and dignity who does not know this.

What is pride? A rocket that emulates the stars.

To begin, begin.

In modern business it is not the crook who is to be feared most, it is the honest man who doesn't know what he is doing.

But an old age serene and bright, and lovely as a Lapland night, shall lead thee to thy grave.

The child is father of the man.

The flower that smells the sweetest is shy and lowly.

Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.

Pictures deface walls more often than they decorate them.

What we need is not the will to believe, but the wish to find out.

Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.

Golf is a day spent in a round of strenuous idleness.

Wisdom is oftentimes nearer when we stoop than when we soar.

That best portion of a man's life, his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.

Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting. Not in entire forgetfulness, and not in utter nakedness, but trailing clouds of glory do we come.

Nature never did betray the heart that loved her.

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.

Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry; and these we adore; Plain living and high thinking are no more.

The mind that is wise mourns less for what age takes away; than what it leaves behind.

Life is divided into three terms - that which was, which is, and which will be. Let us learn from the past to profit by the present, and from the present to live better in the future.

How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold.

For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.

The things which I have seen I now can see no more.

Life is divided into three terms - that which was, which is, and which will be. Let us learn from the past to profit by the present, and from the present, to live better in the future.

The wiser mind mourns less for what age takes away than what it leaves behind.

Wild is the music of autumnal winds the faded woods.

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting. Not in entire forgetfulness and not in utter nakedness but trailing clouds of glory do we come.

The soft blue sky did never melt Into his heart he never felt The witchery of the soft blue sky

The softest breeze to fairest flowers gives birth Think not that Prudence dwells in dark abodes She scans the future with the eye of gods.

Much converse do I find in thee Historian of my infancy Float near me do not yet depart Dead times revive in thee Thou bringst gay creature as thou art A solemn image to my heart.

We will grieve not rather find strength in what remains behind.

One daffodil is worth a thousand pleasures then one is too few.

The daisy by the shadow that it casts Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.

The eagle he was lord above.