Singur ca un nor am hoinărit, Care se-nalță peste văi și dealuri, Când deodată o mulțime am zărit: O oaste de-aurii narcise-n valuri. Chiar lângă

Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts and binds

Fiori în piept simt când privesc Un curcubeu pe cer; De când lumina o văzui Așa-i; Nici astăzi altfel nu-i; Și fi-va până-mbătrânesc,

Singur cutreieram ca un nor Ce plutește pribeag peste plai, Când numai ce zării un sobor – Al narciselor galben alai, Pe-al lacului mal, colo-n

I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o\'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight To me did seem Apparelled in

Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts and binds

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

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

AMID the smoke of cities did you pass The time of early youth; and there you learned, From years of quiet industry, to love The living

IT was an April morning: fresh and clear The Rivulet, delighting in its strength, Ran with a young man\'s speed; and yet the voice Of waters

A NARROW girdle of rough stones and crags, A rude and natural causeway, interposed Between the water and a winding slope Of copse and thicket,

DEAR native regions, I foretell, From what I feel at this farewell, That, wheresoe\'er my steps may tend,

IF thou in the dear love of some one Friend Hast been so happy that thou know\'st what thoughts Will sometimes in the happiness of love Make

OUR walk was far among the ancient trees: There was no road, nor any woodman\'s path; But a thick umbrage--checking the wild growth Of

THERE is an Eminence,--of these our hills The last that parleys with the setting sun; We can behold it from our orchard-seat; And, when at