I listened, motionless and still And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more. – William Wordsworth
Father! — to God himself we cannot give a holier name. – William Wordsworth

I listened, motionless and still And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more. – William Wordsworth
Father! — to God himself we cannot give a holier name. – William Wordsworth
Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility. – William Wordsworth