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How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold.

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
Free
Meadows
Doe
Bloom
Littles
Bold
Little
Root
Love
Lovely
Roots
Flower
Meadow
Freedom
Unfold

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...one interior life in which all beings live with God, themselves are God, existing in the mighty whole, indistinguishable as the cloudless east is from the cloudless west, when all the hemisphere is one cerulean blue.
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Milton, thou should'st be living at this hour.
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Everything is tedious when one does not read with the feeling of the Author.
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And through the heat of conflict keeps the law In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw.
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That mighty orb of song, The divine Milton.
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The sunshine is a glorious birth But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.
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Alas! how little can a moment show Of an eye where feeling plays In ten thousand dewy rays: A face o'er which a thousand shadows go!
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Thou has left behind Powers that will work for thee,-air, earth, and skies! There 's not a breathing of the common wind That will forget thee thou hast great allies Thy friends are exultations, agonies, And love, and man's unconquerable mind.
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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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How fast has brother followed brother, From sunshine to the sunless land!
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Take the sweet poetry of life away, and what remains behind?
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The Rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the Rose.
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A babe, by intercourse of touch I held mute dialogues with my Mother's heart.
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The intellectual power, through words and things, Went sounding on a dim and perilous way!
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I am already kindly disposed towards you. My friendship it is not in my power to give: this is a gift which no man can make, it is not in our own power: a sound and healthy friendship is the growth of time and circumstance, it will spring up and thrive like a wildflower when these favour, and when they do not, it is in vain to look for it.
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Truth takes no account of centuries.
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Happier of happy though I be, like them I cannot take possession of the sky, mount with a thoughtless impulse, and wheel there, one of a mighty multitude whose way and motion is a harmony and dance magnificent.
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Nor will I then thy modest grace forget, Chaste Snow-drop, venturous harbinger of Spring, And pensive monitor of fleeting years!
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Give all thou canst high Heaven rejects the lore of nicely-caluculated less or more.
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