William Wordsworth Quotes
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The childhood of today is the manhood of tomorrow
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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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When from our better selves we have too long been parted by the hurrying world, and droop. Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, how gracious, how benign is solitude.
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Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none; / Look up a second time, and, one by one, / You mark them twinkling out with silvery light, / And wonder how they could elude the sight!
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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 mysteries that cups of flowers infold And all the gorgeous sights which fairies do behold.
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The wind, a sightless laborer, whistles at his task.
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We bow our heads before Thee, and we laud, And magnify thy name Almighty God! But man is thy most awful instrument, In working out a pure intent.
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Look at the fate of summer flowers, which blow at daybreak, droop ere even-song.
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I travelled among unknown men, In lands beyond the sea; Nor England! did I know till then What love I bore to thee.
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The very flowers are sacred to the poor.
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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.
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Plain living and high thinking are no more. The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence, And pure religion breathing household laws.
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Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep/ Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind.
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I've watched you now a full half-hour; Self-poised upon that yellow flower And, little Butterfly! Indeed I know not if you sleep or feed. How motionless! - not frozen seas More motionless! and then What joy awaits you, when the breeze Hath found you out among the trees, And calls you forth again!
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Ah, what a warning for a thoughtless man, Could field or grove, could any spot of earth, Show to his eye an image of the pangs Which it hath witnessed,-render back an echo Of the sad steps by which it hath been trod!
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Let the moon shine on the in thy solitary walk; and let the misty mountain-winds be free to blow against thee.
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We have within ourselves Enough to fill the present day with joy, And overspread the future years with hope.
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Delight and liberty, the simple creed of childhood.
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And oft I thought (my fancy was-so strong) That I, at last, a resting-place had found: 'Here: will I dwell,' said I,' my whole life long, Roaming the illimitable waters round; Here will I live, of all but heaven disowned. And end my days upon the peaceful flood - To break my dream the vessel reached its bound; And homeless near a thousand homes I stood, And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.
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Hearing often-times the still, sad music of humanity, nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power to chasten and subdue.
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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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Like an army defeated The snow hath retreated, And now doth fare ill On the top of the bare hill; The Ploughboy is whooping — anon — anon! There's joy in the mountains: There's life in the fountains; Small clouds are sailing, Blue sky prevailing; The rain is over and gone.
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By all means sometimes be alone; salute thyself; see what thy soul doth wear; dare to look in thy chest; and tumble up and down what thou findest there.