The moving accident is not my trade; To freeze the blood I have no ready arts: 'Tis my delight, alone in summer shade, To pipe a simple song for thinking hearts.
William WordsworthBabylon, Learned and wise, hath perished utterly, Nor leaves her speech one word to aid the sigh That would lament her.
William WordsworthBooks! tis a dull and endless strife: Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music! on my life, There's more of wisdom in it.
William WordsworthSerene will be our days, and bright and happy will our nature be, when love is an unerring light, and joy its own security.
William Wordsworth