William Wordsworth

Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings.

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

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

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

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

A mind forever voyaging through strange seas of thought, alone.

What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be not forever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
Grief not, rather find,
Strength in what remains behind,
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be,
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of Human suffering,
In the faith that looks through death
In years that bring philophic mind.

Wisdom and spirit of the Universe!
Thou soul is the eternity of thought!
That giv'st to forms and images a breath
And everlasting motion! Not in vain
By day or star-light thus from by first dawn
Of childhood didst thou intertwine for me
The passions that build up our human soul,
Not with the mean and vulgar works of man,
But with high objects, with enduring things,
With life and nature, purifying thus
The elements of feeling and of thought,
And sanctifying, by such discipline
Both pain and fear, until we recognize
A grandeur in the beatings of the heart.

She was a phantom of delight
When first she gleam'd upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament.

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

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;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!