Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings.
The best portion of a good man's life is his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love.
She was a phantom of delightWhen first she gleam'd upon my sight;A lovely apparition, sentTo be a moment's ornament.
That best portion of a good man's life,His little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love.
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!
That best portion of a good man's life, His little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love.
What though the radiance which was once so brightBe not forever taken from my sight,Though nothing can bring back the hourOf splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;Grief not, rather find,Strength in what remains behind,In the primal sympathyWhich having been must ever be,In the soothing thoughts that springOut of Human suffering,In the faith that looks through deathIn 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 breathAnd everlasting motion! Not in vainBy day or star-light thus from by first dawnOf childhood didst thou intertwine for meThe 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 thusThe elements of feeling and of thought,And sanctifying, by such disciplineBoth pain and fear, until we recognizeA grandeur in the beatings of the heart.