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Faith is a passionate intuition.

William Wordsworth

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William Wordsworth
Age: 80 †
Born: 1770
Born: April 7
Died: 1850
Died: April 23
Lyricist
Poet
Cockermouth
Cumbria
Wordsworth
Intuition
Passionate
Wisdom
Faith
Spiritual

More quotes by William Wordsworth

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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.
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Neither evil tongues, rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all the dreary intercourse of daily life, shall ever prevail against us.
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Then my heart with pleasure fills And dances with the daffodils.
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'T is hers to pluck the amaranthine flower Of faith, and round the sufferer's temples bind Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower, And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind.
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The feather, whence the pen Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men, Dropped from an angel's wing.
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Dreams, books, are each a world and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good: Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow.
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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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the Mind of Man-- My haunt, and the main region of my song.
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Action is transitory, a step, a blow, The motion of a muscle, this way or that, 'Tis done--And in the after-vacancy, We wonder at ourselves, like men betrayed.
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Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour Have passed away less happy than the one That by the unwilling ploughshare died to prove The tender charm of poetry and love.
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Choice word and measured phrase above the reach Of ordinary men.
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The light that never was, on sea or land The consecration, and the Poet's dream.
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O dearer far than light and life are dear.
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Far from the world I walk, and from all care.
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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.
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Spade! Thou art a tool of honor in my hands. I press thee, through a yielding soil, with pride.
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The ocean is a mighty harmonist.
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And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man.
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She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love.
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But He is risen, a later star of dawn.
William Wordsworth