William Wordsworth

But how can he expect that others should Build for him, sow for him, and at his call Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all?

As high as we have mounted in delight, In our dejection do we sink as low.

Whom neither shape of danger can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray.

And, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw.

But who, if he be called upon to face Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined Great issues, good or bad for human kind, Is happy as a Lover.

More skillful in self-knowledge, even more pure, As tempted more; more able to endure, As more exposed to suffering and distress.

Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves Of their bad influence, and their good receives.

Who, doomed to go in company with Pain, And Fear, and Bloodshed, miserable train! Turns his necessity to glorious gain.

Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he That every man in arms should wish to be?

Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice; The confidence of reason give, And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live!

Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong; And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong.

Me this unchartered freedom tires; I feel the weight of chance-desires: My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose that ever is the same.

A light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove.

Stern Daughter of the Voice of God!

That inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude.

A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company.

Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way.

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.

The reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; perfect woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command.

And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine.

A Creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles.

She was a Phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight; A lovely Apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament; Her eyes as stars of twilight fair, Like twilights too her dusky hair,

Not Chaos, not The darkest pit of lowest Erebus, Nor aught of blinder vacancy, scooped out By help of dreams — can breed such fear and awe As fall upon us often when we look Into our Minds, into the Mind of Man.