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The mind that is wise mourns less for what age takes away than what it leaves behind.

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
Behind
Wise
Takes
Mourns
Age
Mourn
Less
Birthday
Away
Aging
Mind
Leaves
Time
Behinds

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And what if thou, sweet May, hast known Mishap by worm and blight If expectations newly blown Have perished in thy sight If loves and joys, while up they sprung, Were caught as in a snare Such is the lot of all the young, However bright and fair.
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Then blame not those who, by the mightiest lever Known to the moral world, Imagination.
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Bright was the summer's noon when quickening steps Followed each other till a dreary moor Was crossed, a bare ridge clomb, upon whose top Standing alone, as from a rampart's edge, I overlooked the bed of Windermere, Like a vast river, stretching in the sun.
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Faith is, necessary to explain anything, and to reconcile the foreknowledge of God with human evil.
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Memories... images and precious thoughts that shall not die and cannot be destroyed.
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No motion has she now, no force she neither hears nor sees rolled around in earth's diurnal course, with rocks, and stones, and trees.
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I've watched you now a full half-hour Self-poised upon that yellow flower And, little Butterfly! Indeed I know not if you sleep or feed. How motionless! - not frozen seas More motionless! and then What joy awaits you, when the breeze Hath found you out among the trees, And calls you forth again!
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And homeless near a thousand homes I stood, And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.
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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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Sweet childish days, that were as long, As twenty days are now.
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Prompt to move but firm to wait - knowing things rashly sought are rarely found.
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A youth to whom was given So much of earth, so much of heaven.
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One of those heavenly days that cannot die.
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Enough, if something from our hands have power To live, and act, and serve the future hour And if, as toward the silent tomb we go, Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower, We feel that we are greater than we know.
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This City now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie Open unto the fields and to the sky All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
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The child shall become father to the man.
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A perfect woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light
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