Mikor először tűnt elém,
drága volt, mint egy tünemény,
kit azért küldött életem,
hogy egy perc dísze ő legyen.
Szeme mint alkony csillaga;
s az alkony hozzá a haja:
csak ennyi benne az, ami
nem májusi és hajnali.
Vidám kép, édes könnyűség:
...
Up! up, my friend! and quit your books,
Or surely you ’ll grow double;
Up! up, my friend! and clear your looks!
Why all this toil and trouble?
The sun, above the mountain’s head,
A freshening lustre mellow
Through all the long green fields...
Wisdom and Spirit of the universe!
Thou Soul, that art the eternity of thought!
And giv’st to forms and images a breath
And everlasting motion! not in vain,
By day or star-light, thus from my first dawn
Of childhood didst thou intertwine for me
The...
Five years have past; five summers, with the length
Of five long winters! and again I hear
These waters, 1 rolling from their mountain-springs
With a soft inland murmur.—Once again
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,
That on a wild, secluded scene...
My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky;
So was it when my life began,
So is it now I am a man,
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound...
Sonnet
THE World is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be...
Earth has not anything to show more fair;
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This city now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie...
A Trouble, not of clouds, or weeping rain,
Nor of the setting sun’s pathetic light
Engendered, hangs o’er Eildon’s triple height:
Spirits of Power, assembled there, complain
For kindred Power departing from their sight;
While Tweed, best pleased in...
Scorn not the sonnet; critic, you have frowned,
Mindless of its just honors; with this key
Shakespeare unlocked his heart; the melody
Of this small lute gave ease to Petrarch’s wound;
A thousand times this pipe did Tasso sound;
With it Camoëns soothed an...
From “Ecclesiastical Sonnets,” Part III.
THERE are no colors in the fairest sky
So fair as these. The feather, whence the pen
Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men
Dropped from an angel’s wing. With moistened eye
We read of faith and purest...
