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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
Love
Betters
Best

More quotes by William Wordsworth

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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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But an old age serene and bright, and lovely as a Lapland night, shall lead thee to thy grave.
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Lady of the Mere, Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance.
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That kill the bloom before its time, And blanch, without the owner's crime, The most resplendent hair.
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For youthful faults ripe virtues shall atone.
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Small service is true service, while it lasts.
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We have within ourselves Enough to fill the present day with joy, And overspread the future years with hope.
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Pleasures newly found are sweet When they lie about our feet.
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Open-mindedness is the harvest of a quiet eye.
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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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At length the man perceives it die away, And fade into the light of common day.
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All that we behold is full of blessings.
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The feather, whence the pen Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men, Dropped from an angel's wing.
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What is pride? A rocket that emulates the stars.
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Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower, We feel that we are greater than we know.
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Plain living and high thinking are no more. The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone our peace, our fearful innocence, And pure religion breathing household laws.
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Poetry is emotion recollected in tranquillity.
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All men feel a habitual gratitude, and something of an honorable bigotry, for the objects which have long continued to please them.
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For all things are less dreadful than they seem.
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She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be But she is in her grave, and oh The difference to me!
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