William Wordsworth Quotes
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That though the radiance which was once so bright be now forever taken from my sight. Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, glory in the flower. We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.
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The gods approve The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul.
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Not in Utopia, -- subterranean fields, --Or some secreted island, Heaven knows whereBut in the very world, which is the worldOf all of us, -- the place where in the endWe find our happiness, or not at all
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. . .this prayer I make, Knowing that Nature never did betray The heart that loved her; 't is her privilege, Through all the years of this our life, to lead From joy to joy: for she can so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With quietness and beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all The dreary intercourse of daily life, Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold Is full of blessings.
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The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink I heard a voice it said Drink, pretty creature, drink'
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Have I not reason to lament What man has made of man?
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But He is risen, a later star of dawn.
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But thou that didst appear so fair To fond imagination, Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation.
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But to a higher mark than song can reach, Rose this pure eloquence.
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Then my heart with pleasure fills And dances with the daffodils.
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Therefore am I still a lover of the meadows and the woods, and mountains; and of all that we behold from this green earth.
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I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime of something far more deeply interfused, whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, and the round ocean, and the living air, and the blue sky, and in the mind of man.
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Careless of books, yet having felt the power Of Nature, by the gentle agency Of natural objects, led me on to feel For passions that were not my own, and think (At random and imperfectly indeed) On man, the heart of man, and human life.
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The streams with softest sound are flowing, The grass you almost hear it growing, You hear it now, if e'er you can.
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"What is good for a bootless bene?" With these dark words begins my tale; And their meaning is, Whence can comfort spring When prayer is of no avail?
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one daffodil is worth a thousand pleasures, then one is too few.
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One with more of soul in his face than words on his tongue.
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But an old age serene and bright, and lovely as a Lapland night, shall lead thee to thy grave.
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The ocean is a mighty harmonist.
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Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind--But how could I forget thee?
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Tis said, fantastic ocean doth enfold The likeness of whate'er on land is seen.
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This City now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie Open unto the fields and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
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A few strong instincts and a few plain rules.
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And now I see with eye serene, The very pulse of the machine. A being breathing thoughtful breaths, A traveler between life and death.