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In modern business it is not the crook who is to be feared most, it is the honest man who doesn't know what he is doing.

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
Men
Crooks
Modernism
Feared
Honest
Modern
Business
Doesn
Money
Crook

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Sweetest melodies.Are those that are by distance made more sweet.
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If thou art beautiful, and youth and thought endue thee with all truth-be strong--be worthy of the grace of God.
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Primroses, the Spring may love them Summer knows but little of them.
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The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink I heard a voice it said Drink, pretty creature, drink'
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If the time should ever come when what is now called Science, thus famliarised to men, shall be ready to put on, as it were, a form of flesh and blood, the Poet will lend his divine spirit to the aid the transfiguration, and will welcome the Being thus produced, as a dear and genuine inmate of the household of man.
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Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed Their snow-white blossoms on my head, With brightest sunshine round me spread Of spring's unclouded weather, In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard-seat! And birds and flowers once more to greet, My last year's friends together.
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Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.
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Fear is a cloak which old men huddle about their love, as if to keep it warm.
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The wealthiest man among us is the best
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Where the statue stood Of Newton, with his prism and silent face, The marble index of a mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of thought alone.
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Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
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A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
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Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice The confidence of reason give, And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live!
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Sad fancies do we then affect, In luxury of disrespect To our own prodigal excess Of too familiar happiness.
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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.
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Take the sweet poetry of life away, and what remains behind?
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