Quotes About Nature

Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.

He is by nature led To peace so perfect that the young behold With envy, what the old man hardly feels.

The Flower that smells the sweetest is Shy and Lowly.

From heart-experience, and in humblest sense Of Modesty, that he, who in his youth A daily wanderer among woods and fields With living Nature hath been intimate, Not only in that raw unpractised time Is stirred to ecstasy, as others are, By glittering verse but further, doth receive, In measure only dealt out to himself, Knowledge and increase of enduring joy From the great Nature that exists in works Of mighty Poets.

The sky is low, the clouds are mean, A travelling flake of snow Across a barn or through a rut Debates if it will go. A narrow wind complains all day How some one treated him; Nature, like us, is sometimes caught Without her diadem. - Beclouded

The pleasure-house is dust:—behind, before, This is no common waste, no common gloom; But Nature, in due course of time, once more Shall here put on her beauty and her bloom. She leaves these objects to a slow decay, That what we are, and have been, may be known; But at the coming of the milder day, These monuments shall all be overgrown.

One Lesson, Shepherd, let us two divide, Taught both by what she shews, and what conceals, Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a Nun Breathless with adoration.

If living sympathy be theirs And leaves and airs, The piping breeze and dancing tree Are all alive and glad as we: Whether this be truth or no I cannot tell, I do not know; Nay--whether now I reason well, I do not know, I cannot tell.

This son of his old age was yet more dear— Less from instinctive tenderness, the same Fond spirit that blindly works in the blood of all— 145 Than that a child, more than all other gifts That earth can offer to declining man, Brings hope with it, and forward-looking thoughts, And stirrings of inquietude, when they By tendency of nature needs must fail.

The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their colours and their forms, were then to me An appetite; a feeling and a love, That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.

to be incapable of a feeling of poetry, in my sense of the word, is to be without love of human nature

The man whose eye Is ever on himself doth look on one, The least of Nature's works, one who might move The wise man to that scorn which wisdom holds Unlawful, ever. O, be wiser, Thou! Instructed that true knowledge leads to love; True dignity abides with him alone Who, in the silent hour of inward thought, Can still suspect, and still revere himself, In loneliness of heart.

whom I have loved With such communion, that no place on earth Can ever be a solitude to me

Still glides the Stream, and shall for ever glide; The Form remains, the Function never dies; While we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise, We Men, who in our morn of youth defied The elements, must vanish;—be it so!

A natureza nunca traiu o coração que amava.

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore;— Turn wheresoe'er I may, By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more.

These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines / Of sportive wood run wild

I wandered lonely as a cloud

we should see the earth Unthwarted in her wish to recompense The industrious

Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way.

How Nature by extrinsic passion first / Peopled my mind with beauteous forms or grand' (Book I.)

Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be; In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of human suffering; In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind.

No other than the very heart of man, As found among the best of those who live-- Not unexalted by religious faith, Nor uninformed by books, good books, though few-- In Nature's presence: thence may I select Sorrow, that is not sorrow, but delight; And miserable love, that is not pain To hear of, for the glory that redounds Therefrom to human kind, and what we are.