William Wordsworth Quotes
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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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One with more of soul in his face than words on his tongue.
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I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy, The sleepless soul that perished in his pride; Of him who walked in glory and in joy, Following his plough, along the mountain-side. By our own spirits we are deified; We Poets in our youth begin in gladness, But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
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Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns.
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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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The ocean is a mighty harmonist.
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one daffodil is worth a thousand pleasures, then one is too few.
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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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Nature's old felicities.
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Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep/ Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind.
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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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To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
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Hope smiled when your nativity was cast, Children of Summer!
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He spake of love, such love as spirits feel In worlds whose course is equable and pure; No fears to beat away, no strife to heal,- The past unsighed for, and the future sure.
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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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The Rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the Rose.
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Wisdom and Spirit of the universe! Thou soul, that art the eternity of thought, And giv'st to forms and images a breath And everlasting motion.
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There is creation in the eye.
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The mysteries that cups of flowers infold And all the gorgeous sights which fairies do behold.
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Be mild, and cleave to gentle things, thy glory and thy happiness be there.
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Sweet is the lore which Nature brings; Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things We murder to dissect. Enough of Science and of Art; Close up these barren leaves; Come forth, and bring with you a heart That watches and receives.
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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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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting. Not in entire forgetfulness, and not in utter nakedness, but trailing clouds of glory do we come.
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One solace yet remains for us who came Into this world in days when story lacked Severe research, that in our hearts we know How, for exciting youth's heroic flame, Assent is power, belief the soul of fact.