William Wordsworth Quotes
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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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Tis said, fantastic ocean doth enfold The likeness of whate'er on land is seen.
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But He is risen, a later star of dawn.
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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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Then my heart with pleasure fills And dances with the daffodils.
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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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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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Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns.
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I'm not talking about a "show me other walls of this thing" button, I mean a "stumble" button for wallbase.
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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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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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But an old age serene and bright, and lovely as a Lapland night, shall lead thee to thy grave.
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Hope smiled when your nativity was cast, Children of Summer!
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A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard... Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.
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One with more of soul in his face than words on his tongue.
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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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Of friends, however humble, scorn not one.
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The mysteries that cups of flowers infold And all the gorgeous sights which fairies do behold.
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one daffodil is worth a thousand pleasures, then one is too few.
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Faith is, necessary to explain anything, and to reconcile the foreknowledge of God with human evil.
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Nature's old felicities.
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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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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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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.