William Wordsworth Quotes
The mysteries that cups of flowers infold And all the gorgeous sights which fairies do behold.
The common growth of Mother Earth Suffices me,-her tears, her mirth, Her humblest mirth and tears.
It is the 1st mild day of March. Each minute sweeter than before... there is a blessing in the air.
A lawyer art thou? Draw not nigh! Go, carry to some fitter place The keenness of that practised eye, The hardness of that sallow face.
When men change swords for ledgers, and desert The student's bower for gold, some fears unnamed I had, my Country--am I to be blamed?
A Primrose by a river's brim A yellow primrose was to him And it was something more.
I'm not talking about a "show me other walls of this thing" button, I mean a "stumble" button for wallbase.
Like thoughts whose very sweetness yielded proof that they were born for immortality.
If thou art beautiful, and youth and thought endue thee with all truth-be strong;--be worthy of the grace of God.
Those old credulities, to Nature dear, Shall they no longer bloom upon the stock Of history?
The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink I heard a voice it said Drink, pretty creature, drink'
I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, wherever nature led.
Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep/ Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind.
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will; Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still!
The fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world Have hung upon the beatings of my heart.
The intellectual power, through words and things, Went sounding on a dim and perilous way!
But how can he expect that others should Build for him, sow for him, and at his call Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all?
Who, doomed to go in company with Pain And Fear and Bloodshed,-miserable train!- Turns his necessity to glorious gain.
Tis not in battles that from youth we train The Governor who must be wise and good, And temper with the sternness of the brain Thoughts motherly, and meek as womanhood.
Burn all the statutes and their shelves: They stir us up against our kind; And worse, against ourselves.
On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life, Musing in solitude, I oft perceive Fair trains of images before me rise, Accompanied by feelings of delight Pure, or with no unpleasing sadness mixed.
Long as there's a sun that sets, Primroses will have their glory; Long as there are violets, They will have a place in story: There's a flower that shall be mine, 'Tis the little Celandine.
The thought of death sits easy on the man Who has been born and dies among the mountains.
Books! tis a dull and endless strife:Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music! on my life, There's more of wisdom in it.
