Selections from Wordsworth (Paperback)

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1889. Excerpt: ... LXIX.--TO A PAINTER. 1841.--1842. All praise the Likeness by thy skill portrayed; But 't is a fruitless task to paint for me, Who, yielding not to changes Time has made, By the habitual light of memory see Eyes unbedimmed, see bloom that cannot fade, And smiles that from their birthplace ne'er shall flee Into the land where ghosts and phantoms be; And, seeing this, own nothing in its stead. Could'st thou-go back into far-distant years, Or share with me, fond thought that inward eye, Then, and then only, Painter could thy Art The visual powers of Nature satisfy, Which hold, whate'er to common sight appears, Their sovereign empire in a faithful heart. LXX.--TO THE SAME. 1841.--1842. Though I beheld at first with blank surprise This Work, I now have gazed on it so long I see its truth with unreluctant eyes; O, my Beloved I have done thee wrong, Conscious of blessedness, but, whence it sprung Ever too heedless, as I now perceive: Morn into noon did pass, noon into eve, And the old day was welcome as the young, As welcome, and as beautiful, --in sooth More beautiful, as being a thing more holy: Thanks to thy virtues, to the eternal youth Of all thy goodness, never melancholy; To thy large heart and humble mind, that cast Into one vision, future, present, past. LXXI. 1842.--1842. A Poet --He hath put his heart to school, Nor dares to move unpropped upon the staff Which Art hath lodged within his hand; must laugh By precept only, and shed tears by rule. Thy Art be Nature; the live current quaff, And let the groveller sip his stagnant pool, In fear that else, when Critics grave and cool Have killed him, Scorn should write his epitaph. How does the Meadow-flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free Down to its root, and, in that freedom, bo..