Quotes About Nature

A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable.

She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love: A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! —Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and, oh, The difference to me!

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 each to each by natural piety.

She died, and left to me This heath, this calm and quiet scene, The memory of what has been, And never more will be.

Therefore, let the moon shine on thee in thy solitary walk; And let the misty-mountain winds be free to blow against thee.

All that we behold is full of blessings.

I'll teach my boy the sweetest things; I'll teach him how the owlet sings.

I listen'd, motionless and still; And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.

Therefore am I still / A lover of the meadows and the woods, / And mountains; and of all that we behold / From this green earth; of all the mighty world / Of eye and ear, both what they half create / And what perceive; well pleased to recognize / In nature and the language of the sense, / The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse/ The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul / Of all my moral being.

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!

I heard a thousand blended notes While in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man.

Go to the poets, they will speak to thee More perfectly of purer creatures--

Come forth, and bring with you a heart That watches and receives.

The world is too much with us.

The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face.

If this belief from heaven be sent, If such be Nature's holy plan, Have I not reason to lament What man has made of man?

and in thy voice I catch the language of my former heart, and read my former pleasures in the shooting lights of thy wild eyes.

One moment now may give us more Than fifty years of reason; Our minds shall drink at every pore The spirit of the season.

But the sweet face of Lucy Gray Will never more be seen. The storm came on before its time: She wandered up and down; And many a hill did Lucy climb: But never reached the town.

Here must thou be, O man, Strength to thyself — no helper hast thou here — Here keepest thou thy individual state: No other can divide with thee this work, No secondary hand can intervene To fashion this ability. 'Tis thine, The prime and vital principle is thine In the recesses of thy nature, far From any reach of outward fellowship, Else 'tis not thine at all.

All things that love the sun are out of doors; The sky rejoices in the morning's birth; The grass is bright with rain-drops;—on the moors The hare is running races in her mirth; And with her feet she from the plashy earth Raises a mist, that, glittering in the sun, Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run.

Our meddlesome intellect misshapen the beauteous form of things.

Such views the youthful Bard allure, But, heedless of the following gloom, He deems their colours shall endure 'Till peace go with him to the tomb. —And let him nurse his fond deceit, And what if he must die in sorrow! Who would not cherish dreams so sweet, Though grief and pain may come tomorrow?

I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.