O Nightingale, thou surely art/ A creature of a 'fiery heart'. |
O Reader! had you in your mind Such stores as silent thought can bring, O gentle Reader! you would find A tale in everything. |
O Silence! are Man's noisy years No more than moments of thy life? |
O'er rough and smooth she trips along,/ And never looks behind;/ And sings a solitary song/ That whistles in the wind. |
Often have I sighed to measure
By myself a lonely pleasure, Sighed to think, I read a book Only read, perhaps, by me. |
Often have I sighed to measure By myself a lonely pleasure, Sighed to think, I read a book Only read, perhaps, by me. |
Oh, be wiser thou! Instructed that true knowledge leads to love. |
One great society alone on earth: the noble living and the noble dead |
One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can. |
One in whom persuasion and belief
Had ripened into faith, and faith become A passionate intuition. |
One of those heavenly days that cannot die. |
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar |
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. |
Our noisy years seem moments in the being of the eternal silence. |
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago. |