Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour Have passed away; less happy than the one That by the unwilling ploughshare died to prove The tender charm of poetry and love.
William WordsworthMy eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.
William WordsworthNuns fret not at their convent's narrow room; And hermits are contented with their cells.
William Wordsworth