William Wordsworth Quotes
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Come forth into the light of things, let nature be your teacher.
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In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind.
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Prompt to move but firm to wait - knowing things rashly sought are rarely found.
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Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!
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The earth was all before me. With a heart Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty, I look about; and should the chosen guide Be nothing better than a wandering cloud, I cannot miss my way.
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Bright was the summer's noon when quickening steps Followed each other till a dreary moor Was crossed, a bare ridge clomb, upon whose top Standing alone, as from a rampart's edge, I overlooked the bed of Windermere, Like a vast river, stretching in the sun.
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Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry; and these we adore; Plain living and high thinking are no more.
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On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life, Musing in solitude, I oft perceive Fair trains of images before me rise, Accompanied by feelings of delight Pure, or with no unpleasing sadness mixed.
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A great poet ought to a certain degree to rectify men's feelings... to render their feelings more sane, pure and permanent, in short, more consonant to Nature.
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As high as we have mounted in delight, In our dejection do we sink as low.
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His love was like the liberal air, embracing all, to cheer and bless.
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Write to me frequently & the longest letters possible; never mind whether you have facts or no to communicate; fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
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Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room; And hermits are contented with their cells.
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Oft in my way have I stood still, though but a casual passenger, so much I felt the awfulness of life.
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The education of circumstances is superior to that of tuition.
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Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretch'd in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
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The mind that is wise mourns less for what age takes away; than what it leaves behind.
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A famous man is Robin Hood, The English ballad-singer's joy.
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Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge; it is the impassioned expression which is in the countenance of all Science
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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.
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And suddenly all your troubles melt away, all your worries are gone, and it is for no reason other than the look in your partner's eyes. Yes, sometimes life and love really is that simple.
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Oh there is blessing in this gentle breeze, A visitant that while it fans my cheek Doth seem half-conscious of the joy it brings From the green fields, and from yon azure sky. Whate'er its mission, the soft breeze can come To none more grateful than to me; escaped From the vast city, where I long had pined A discontented sojourner: now free, Free as a bird to settle where I will.
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Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.
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Two voices are there: one is of the deep; It learns the storm-cloud's thunderous melody, Now roars, now murmurs with the changing sea, Now bird-like pipes, now closes soft in sleep: And one is of an old half-witted sheep Which bleats articulate monotony, And indicates that two and one are three, That grass is green, lakes damp, and mountains steep And, Wordsworth, both are thine.