Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me…
Clearly the blue river chimes in its flowing Under my eye; Warmly and broadly the south winds are blowing Over…
When will the stream be aweary of flowing Under my eye? When will the wind be aweary of blowing Over…
A noiseless, patient spider, I mark’d, where, on a little promontory, it stood, isolated; Mark’d how, to explore the vacant,…
Thou fair-hair’d angel of the evening, Now, whilst the sun rests on the mountains, light Thy bright torch of love;…
I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o’er vales and hills, When all at once I saw…
You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles…