William Wordsworth Quotes
Often have I sighed to measure By myself a lonely pleasure,- Sighed to think I read a book, Only read, perhaps, by me.
And homeless near a thousand homes I stood, And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.
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.
From the body of one guilty deed a thousand ghostly fears and haunting thoughts proceed.
Poetry is the first and last of all knowledge - it is as immortal as the heart of man.
Serene will be our days, and bright and happy will our nature be, when love is an unerring light, and joy its own security.
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.
Write to me frequently & the longest letters possible; never mind whether you have facts or no to communicate; fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
O joy! that in our embers Is something that doth live, That nature yet remembers What was so fugitive!
In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard seat And birds and flowers once more to greet. . . .
One in whom persuasion and belief Had ripened into faith, and faith become A passionate intuition.
"What is good for a bootless bene?" With these dark words begins my tale; And their meaning is, Whence can comfort spring When prayer is of no avail?
Spade! Thou art a tool of honor in my hands. I press thee, through a yielding soil, with pride.
Therefore am I still a lover of the meadows and the woods, and mountains; and of all that we behold from this green earth.
As generations come and go, Their arts, their customs, ebb and flow; Fate, fortune, sweep strong powers away, And feeble, of themselves, decay.
While all the future, for thy purer soul, With "sober certainties" of love is blest.
in the mind of man, A motion and a spirit, that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things.
Imagination is the means of deep insight and sympathy, the power to conceive and express images removed from normal objective reality.
Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
In heaven above, And earth below, they best can serve true gladness Who meet most feelingly the calls of sadness.
She gave me eyes, she gave me ears; And humble cares, and delicate fears; A heart, the fountain of sweet tears; And love and thought and joy.
Knowledge and increase of enduring joy From the great Nature that exists in works Of mighty Poets.
Alas! how little can a moment show Of an eye where feeling plays In ten thousand dewy rays: A face o'er which a thousand shadows go!
The child is father of the man: And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.
Stern daughter of the voice of God! O Duty! if that name thou love Who art a light to guide, a rod To check the erring and reprove.
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.
Our meddling intellect Misshapes the beauteous forms of things We murder to dissect
O Reader! had you in your mind Such stores as silent thought can bring, O gentle Reader! you would find A tale in everything.
Imagination, which in truth Is but another name for absolute power And clearest insight, amplitude of mind, And reason, in her most exalted mood.
A great poet ought to a certain degree to rectify men's feelings... to render their feelings more sane, pure and permanent, in short, more consonant to Nature.
