William Wordsworth

How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free…

But an old age serene and bright, and lovely as a Lapland night, shall lead…

That best portion of a man’s life, his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and…

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers…

Golf is a day spent in a round of strenuous idleness…

Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity…

The world is too much with us late and soon, getting and spending, we lay…

Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected…

When from our better selves we have too long been parted by the hurrying world…

The best portion of a good man’s life is his little, nameless, unremembered acts of…