William Wordsworth Quotes
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He who feels contempt for any living thing hath faculties that he hath never used, and thought with him is in its infancy.
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Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice; The confidence of reason give, And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live!
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It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration; the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity; The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the sea: Listen! the mighty being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thundereverlastingly.
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To be young was very heaven!
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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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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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The oldest man he seemed that ever wore grey hairs.
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But to a higher mark than song can reach, Rose this pure eloquence.
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There's something in a flying horse, There's something in a huge balloon.
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Or shipwrecked, kindles on the coast False fires, that others may be lost.
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Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep/ Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind.
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We live by Admiration, Hope, and Love; And, even as these are well and wisely fixed, In dignity of being we ascend.
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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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Burn all the statutes and their shelves: They stir us up against our kind; And worse, against ourselves.
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Wisdom is oftentimes nearer when we stoop than when we soar.
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Stay, little cheerful Robin! stay, And at my casement sing, Though it should prove a farewell lay And this our parting spring. * * * * * Then, little Bird, this boon confer, Come, and my requiem sing, Nor fail to be the harbinger Of everlasting spring.
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How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold.
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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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The Primrose for a veil had spread The largest of her upright leaves; And thus for purposes benign, A simple flower deceives.
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The flower that smells the sweetest is shy and lowly.