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Love betters what is best

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
Best
Love
Betters

More quotes by William Wordsworth

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Often have I sighed to measure By myself a lonely pleasure,- Sighed to think I read a book, Only read, perhaps, by me.
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Those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realised, High instincts before which our mortal Nature Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised
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Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
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The wealthiest man among us is the best
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A man he seems of cheerful yesterdays And confident tomorrows.
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On a fair prospect some have looked, And felt, as I have heard them say, As if the moving time had been A thing as steadfast as the scene On which they gazed themselves away.
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Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close upon the growing boy.
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Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.
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While all the future, for thy purer soul, With sober certainties of love is blest.
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The child is the father of man.
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Pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.
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Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!
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A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard... Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.
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Poetry is emotion recollected in tranquillity.
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Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit, and play with similes, Loose type of things through all degrees.
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To be a Prodigal's favourite,-then, worse truth, A Miser's pensioner,-behold our lot!
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In spite of difference of soil and climate, of language and manners, of laws and customs-in spite of things silently gone out of mind, and things violently destroyed, the Poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society, as it is spread over the whole earth, and over all time.
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She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love.
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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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... and we shall find A pleasure in the dimness of the stars.
William Wordsworth