William Wordsworth

“Книгите са особен свят, чист, добър, сред който можем да живеем и да бъдем щастливи.”

“All that we behold is full of blessings.”

“In sleep I heard the northern gleams;The stars they were among my dreams;In sleep did I behold the skies”

“She died, and left to meThis heath, this calm and quiet scene,The memory of what has been,And never more will be.”

“I'll teach my boy the sweetest things;I'll teach him how the owlet sings.”

“... and we shall findA pleasure in the dimness of the stars.”

“A cheerful life is what the Muses love, A soaring spirit is their prime delight.”

“But trailing clouds of glory do we come from God, who is our home.”

“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; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die!The Child is father of the Man;And I could wish my days to beBound each to each by natural piety.”

“Feeling comes in aid Of feeling, and diversity of strength Attends us, if but once we have been strong.”

“Upon Westminster BridgeEarth has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will: Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still!”

“Hence in a season of calm weather, Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea which brought us hither, Can in a moment travel thither, And see the children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.”

“...and in thy voice I catch the language of my former heart, and read my former pleasures in the shooting lights of thy wild eyes.”

“Therefore, let the moon shine on thee in thy solitary walk; And let the misty-mountain winds be free to blow against thee.”

“Hence, in a season of calm weatherThough inland far we be,Our souls have sight of that immortal sea”

“She was a Phantom of delightWhen first she gleam'd upon my sight;A lovely Apparition, sentTo be a moment's ornament:Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair;But all things else about her drawnFrom May-time and the cheerful dawn;A dancing shape, an image gay,To haunt, to startle, and waylay.”

“To begin, begin.”

“I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deedsWith coldness still returning;Alas! the gratitude of menHas oftener left me mourning.”

“Faith is a passionate intuition.”

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

“[...]the stately and slow-moving Turk,With freight of slippers piled beneath his arm.”

“In ourselves our safety must be sought. By our own right hand it must be wrought.”

“This son of his old age was yet more dear— Less from instinctive tenderness, the same Fond spirit that blindly works in the blood of all— 145Than that a child, more than all other gifts That earth can offer to declining man, Brings hope with it, and forward-looking thoughts, And stirrings of inquietude, when they By tendency of nature needs must fail.”

“Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where is it now, the glory and the dream?”

“But the sweet face of Lucy GrayWill never more be seen.The storm came on before its time:She wandered up and down;And many a hill did Lucy climb:But never reached the town.”

“I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills When all at once I saw a crowd A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake beneath the trees Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.”

“And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine A being breathing thoughtful breath A traveler betwixt life and death The reason firm the temperate will Endurance Foresight Strength and skill”

“Though inland far we be,Our souls have sight of that immortal seaWhich brought us hither.”

“I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.”

“The good die first.”

“A deep distress hath humanised my soul.”

“Thanks to the human heart by which we live,Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and its fears,To me the meanest flower that blows can giveThoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.”

“Where are your books? - that light bequeathedTo beings else forlorn and blind!Up! up! and drink the spirit breathedFrom dead men to their kind.”

“I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime of something far more deeply interfused, whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, and the round ocean, and the living air, and the blue sky, and in the mind of man...”

“poetry is the breath and finer spirit of knowledge”

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

“Duty were our games.”

“He is by nature ledTo peace so perfect that the young beholdWith envy, what the old man hardly feels.”

“Is then no nook of English ground secureFrom rash assault?”

“Lines Written In Early SpringI heard a thousand blended notes,While in a grove I sate reclined,In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughtsBring sad thoughts to the mind.To her fair works did Nature linkThe human soul that through me ran;And much it grieved my heart to thinkWhat man has made of man.Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;And 'tis my faith that every flowerEnjoys the air it breathes.The birds around me hopped and played,Their thoughts I cannot measure:--But the least motion which they madeIt seemed a thrill of pleasure.The budding twigs spread out their fan,To catch the breezy air;And I must think, do all I can,That there was pleasure there.If this belief from heaven be sent,If such be Nature's holy plan,Have I not reason to lamentWhat man has made of man?”

“If thou indeed derive thy light from Heaven,Then, to the measure of that heaven-born light,Shine, Poet! in thy place, and be content: --The stars pre-eminent in magnitude,And they that from the zenith dart their beams,(Visible though they be to half the earth,Though half a sphere be conscious of their brightness)Are yet of no diviner origin,No purer essence, than the one that burns,Like an untended watch-fire on the ridgeOf some dark mountain; or than those which seemHumbly to hang, like twinkling winter lamps,Among the branches of the leafless trees.All are the undying offspring of one Sire:Then, to the measure of the light vouchsafed,Shine, Poet! in thy place, and be content.”

“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.”

“Stranger! henceforth be warned; and know that pride,Howe'er disguised in its own majesty,Is littleness; that he, who feels contemptFor any living thing, hath facultiesWhich he has never used; that thought with himIs in its infancy...”

“A mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of Thought, alone.”

“Here must thou be, O man,Strength to thyself — no helper hast thou here —Here keepest thou thy individual state:No other can divide with thee this work,No secondary hand can interveneTo fashion this ability. 'Tis thine,The prime and vital principle is thineIn the recesses of thy nature, farFrom any reach of outward fellowship,Else 'tis not thine at all.”

“Sweet is the lore which nature brings;Our meddling intellectMisshapes the beauteous forms of things—We murder to dissect.”

“..........books are yours, Within whose silent chambers treasure lies Preserved from age to age; more precious far Than that accumulated store of gold And orient gems, which, for a day of need, The Sultan hides deep in ancestral tombs. These hoards of truth you can unlock at will:”

“Every great and original writer, in proportion as he is great and original, must himself create the taste by which he is to be relished.”

“The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benediction: not indeed For that which is most worthy to be blest— Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest, With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast.”

“What is a Poet? He is a man speaking to men: a man, it is true, endued with more lively sensibility, more enthusiasm and tenderness, who has a greater knowledge of human nature, and a more comprehensive soul, than are supposed to be common among mankind; a man pleased with his own passions and volitions, and who rejoices more than other men in the spirit of life that is in him; delighting to contemplate similar volitions and passions as manifested in the goings-on of the universe, and habitually impelled to create them where he does not find them.”