William Wordsworth Quotes
We Poets in our youth begin in gladness; But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
But who shall parcel out His intellect by geometric rules, Split like a province into round and square?
Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee! . . . . . . Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart: So didst thou travel on life's common way In cheerful godliness.
The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.
Sad fancies do we then affect, In luxury of disrespect To our own prodigal excess Of too familiar happiness.
The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, burn to the socket.
I listened, motionless and still; And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.
He who feels contempt for any living thing hath faculties that he hath never used, and thought with him is in its infancy.
All men feel a habitual gratitude, and something of an honorable bigotry, for the objects which have long continued to please them.
Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves Of their bad influence, and their good receives.
The silence that is in the starry sky, / The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
Scorn not the sonnet. Critic, you have frowned, Mindless of its just honours; with this key Shakespeare unlocked his heart.
Knowing that Nature never did betray the heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege, through all the years of this our life, to lead from joy to joy.
Laying out grounds may be considered a liberal art, in some sort like poetry and painting.
The monumental pomp of age Was with this goodly personage; A stature undepressed in size, Unbent, which rather seemed to rise In open victory o'er the weight Of seventy years, to loftier height.
His high endeavours are an inward light That makes the path before him always bright.
The primal duties shine aloft, like stars; The charities that soothe, and heal, and bless, Are scattered at the feet of Man, like flowers.
Huge and mighty forms that do not live like living men, moved slowly through the mind by day and were trouble to my dreams.
The clouds that gather round the setting sun, Do take a sober colouring from an eye, That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality.
Blessings be with them, and eternal praise, Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares!- The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays.
Great men have been among us; hands that penn'd And tongues that utter'd wisdom--better none
Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade Of that which once was great is passed away.
And through the heat of conflict keeps the law In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw.
Science appears but what in truth she is, Not as our glory and our absolute boast, But as a succedaneum, and a prop To our infirmity.
The Poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society.
This solitary Tree! a living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay; Of form and aspect too magnificent To be destroyed.
On a fair prospect some have looked, And felt, as I have heard them say, As if the moving time had been A thing as steadfast as the scene On which they gazed themselves away.
That kill the bloom before its time, And blanch, without the owner's crime, The most resplendent hair.