“Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.”
— William Wordsworth, Letter to his Wife (April 29 1812).
My eyes are dim with childish tears,
My heart is idly stirred,
For the same sound is in my ears
Which in those days I heard.
Thus fares it still in our decay:
And yet the wiser mind
Mourns less for what age takes away
Than what it leaves behind.
— William Wordsworth, “The Fountain,” st. 8 & 9 (1799).