William Wordsworth Quotes
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A brotherhood of venerable trees.
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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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Great men have been among us; hands that penn'd And tongues that utter'd wisdom--better none
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one daffodil is worth a thousand pleasures, then one is too few.
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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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Nature's old felicities.
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Of friends, however humble, scorn not one.
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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.
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Faith is, necessary to explain anything, and to reconcile the foreknowledge of God with human evil.
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The wind, a sightless laborer, whistles at his task.
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She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and oh The difference to me!
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The wealthiest man among us is the best
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Take the sweet poetry of life away, and what remains behind?
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Rest and be thankful.
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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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To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
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The child is father of the man: And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.
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Type of the wise who soar but never roam, True to the kindred points of heaven and home.
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How many undervalue the power of simplicity ! But it is the real key to the heart.
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Delight and liberty, the simple creed of childhood.
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There is creation in the eye.
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Whether we be young or old,Our destiny, our being's heart and home,Is with infinitude, and only there;With hope it is, hope that can never die,Effort and expectation, and desire,And something evermore about to be.
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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting.
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The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion; the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, An appetite; a feeling and a love that had no need of a remoter charm by thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.