English Childhood: Wordsworth's Treatment of Childhood in the Light of English Poetry from Prior to Crabbe

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Columbia University Press, 1922 - Children in literature - 401 pages

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Page 396 - Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie Thy soul's immensity ; Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind. That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, Haunted for ever by the eternal mind ; — Mighty prophet ! Seer blest ! On whom those truths do rest. Which we are toiling all our lives to find...
Page 382 - A stranger yet to pain ! I feel the gales that from ye blow, A momentary bliss bestow, As waving fresh their gladsome wing, My weary soul they seem to soothe, And, redolent of joy and youth, To breathe a second spring.
Page 392 - We in thought will join your throng, Ye that pipe and ye that play, Ye that through your hearts today Feel the gladness of the May!
Page 391 - Hence in a season of calm weather, Though inland far we be, Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither, Can in a moment travel thither, And see the Children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore...
Page 133 - He who stills the raven's clam'rous nest, And decks the lily fair in flowery pride, Would in the way His wisdom sees the best, For them and for their little ones provide ; But chiefly in their hearts with grace divine preside.
Page 395 - I hear! —But there's a Tree, of many one, A single Field which I have looked upon, Both of them speak of something that is gone: The Pansy at my feet Doth the same tale repeat: Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
Page 226 - How skilfully she builds her cell ! How neat she spreads the wax ! And labours hard to store it well With the sweet food she makes. In works of labour, or of skill, I would be busy too ; For Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do. In books, or work, or healthful play, Let my first years be past; That I may give for every day Some good account at last.
Page 132 - Belyve,* the elder bairns come drapping in, At service out, amang the farmers roun
Page 290 - WHEN my mother died I was very young, And my father sold me while yet my tongue Could scarcely cry
Page 285 - I'll tell thee: He is called by thy name, For He calls Himself a Lamb. He is meek, and He is mild; He became a little child. I a child, and thou a lamb, We are called by His name. Little Lamb, God bless thee!

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