William Wordsworth Quotes
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Recognizes ever and anon The breeze of Nature stirring in his soul.
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Happier of happy though I be, like them I cannot take possession of the sky, mount with a thoughtless impulse, and wheel there, one of a mighty multitude whose way and motion is a harmony and dance magnificent.
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One in whom persuasion and belief Had ripened into faith, and faith become A passionate intuition.
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The light that never was, on sea or land; The consecration, and the Poet's dream.
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Nor will I then thy modest grace forget, Chaste Snow-drop, venturous harbinger of Spring, And pensive monitor of fleeting years!
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Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
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Since thy return, through days and weeks Of hope that grew by stealth, How many wan and faded cheeks Have kindled into health! The Old, by thee revived, have said, 'Another year is ours;' And wayworn Wanderers, poorly fed, Have smiled upon thy flowers.
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A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable.
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Science appears but what in truth she is, Not as our glory and our absolute boast, But as a succedaneum, and a prop To our infirmity.
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Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive But to be young was very heaven.
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There is a luxury in self-dispraise; And inward self-disparagement affords To meditative spleen a grateful feast.
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And he is oft the wisest manWho is not wise at all.
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There is a comfort in the strength of love; 'Twill make a thing endurable, which else would overset the brain, or break the heart.
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Pictures deface walls more often than they decorate them.
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True beauty dwells in deep retreats, Whose veil is unremoved Till heart with heart in concord beats, And the lover is beloved.
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Or shipwrecked, kindles on the coast False fires, that others may be lost.
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But who shall parcel out His intellect by geometric rules, Split like a province into round and square?
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Wisdom is oftentimes nearer when we stoop than when we soar.
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I should dread to disfigure the beautiful ideal of the memories of illustrious persons with incongruous features, and to sully the imaginative purity of classical works with gross and trivial recollections.
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The unconquerable pang of despised love.
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Through primrose tufts, in that green bower, The periwinkle trails its wreath; And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes. The birds around me hopped and played, Their thoughts I cannot measure; But the least motion which they made, It seemed a thrill of pleasure. The budding twigs spread out their fan, To catch the breezy air; And I must think, do all I can That there was pleasure there. If this belief from heaven be sent, If such be Nature's holy plan, Have I not reason to lament What man has made of man?
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Oh, blank confusion! true epitome Of what the mighty City is herself, To thousands upon thousands of her sons, Living amid the same perpetual whirl Of trivial objects, melted and reduced To one identity.
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Burn all the statutes and their shelves: They stir us up against our kind; And worse, against ourselves.
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The very flowers are sacred to the poor.