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Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry and these we adore Plain living and high thinking are no more.

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
Adore
Expenses
Plain
High
Rapine
Living
Idolatry
Thinking
Avarice
Expense
Idols

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The wealthiest man among us is the best
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The human mind is capable of excitement without the application of gross and violent stimulants and he must have a very faint perception of its beauty and dignity who does not know this.
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Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none / Look up a second time, and, one by one, / You mark them twinkling out with silvery light, / And wonder how they could elude the sight!
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Pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.
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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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Father! - to God himself we cannot give a holier name.
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Love betters what is best
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The harvest of a quiet eye, That broods and sleeps on his own heart.
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Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
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Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And, even with something of a mother's mind, And no unworthy aim, The homely nurse doth all she can To make her foster child, her inmate man, Forget the glories he hath known And that imperial palace whence he came.
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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.
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Wild is the music of autumnal winds Amongst the faded woods.
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In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard seat And birds and flowers once more to greet. . . .
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O dearer far than light and life are dear.
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Me this uncharted freedom tires I feel the weight of chance desires, My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose that ever is the same.
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The common growth of Mother Earth Suffices me,-her tears, her mirth, Her humblest mirth and tears.
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Because the good old rule Sufficeth them,-the simple plan, That they should take who have the power, And they should keep who can.
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Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence.
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Oft in my way have I stood still, though but a casual passenger, so much I felt the awfulness of life.
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A simple child. That lightly draws its breath. And feels its life in every limb. What should it know of death?
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