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One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can.

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
Good
Educational
Men
Woods
Tree
Vernal
Teach
Sages
Moral
Sage
Evil
Wood
Nature
Forests
May
Impulse

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Hearing often-times the still, sad music of humanity, nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power to chasten and subdue.
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Scorn not the sonnet. Critic, you have frowned, Mindless of its just honours with this key Shakespeare unlocked his heart.
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The vision and the faculty divine Yet wanting the accomplishment of verse.
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He loves not well whose love is bold! I would not have thee come too nigh. The sun's gold would not seem pure gold Unless the sun were in the sky: To take him thence and chain him near Would make his beauty disappear. William Winter, Love's Queen. The unconquerable pang of despised love.
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But who shall parcel out His intellect by geometric rules, Split like a province into round and square?
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Poetry has never brought me in enough money to buy shoestrings.
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Oh for a single hour of that Dundee Who on that day the word of onset gave!
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Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters.
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The best of what we do and are, Just God, forgive!
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Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room And hermits are contented with their cells.
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What is pride? A rocket that emulates the stars.
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Bright flower! whose home is everywhere Bold in maternal nature's care And all the long year through the heir Of joy or sorrow, Methinks that there abides in thee Some concord with humanity, Given to no other flower I see The forest through.
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We live by Admiration, Hope, and Love And, even as these are well and wisely fixed, In dignity of being we ascend.
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The wind, a sightless laborer, whistles at his task.
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Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretch'd in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
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The soft blue sky did never melt Into his heart he never felt The witchery of the soft blue sky!
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Come grow old with me. The best is yet to be.
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I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts a sense sublime of something far more deeply interfused, whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, and the round ocean, and the living air, and the blue sky, and in the mind of man.
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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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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.
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