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Be mild, and cleave to gentle things, thy glory and thy happiness be there.

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
Cleave
Mild
Gentle
Glory
Happiness
Things

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Prompt to move but firm to wait - knowing things rashly sought are rarely found.
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What is good for a bootless bene? With these dark words begins my tale And their meaning is, Whence can comfort spring When prayer is of no avail?
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Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence.
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We Poets in our youth begin in gladness But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
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Spires whose silent finger points to heaven.
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Stop thinking for once in your life!
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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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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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Let beeves and home-bred kine partake The sweets of Burn-mill meadow The swan on still St. Mary's Lake Float double, swan and shadow!
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Love betters what is best
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Fear is a cloak which old men huddle about their love, as if to keep it warm.
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Sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart.
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Either still I find Some imperfection in the chosen theme, Or see of absolute accomplishment Much wanting, so much wanting, in myself, That I recoil and droop, and seek repose In listlessness from vain perplexity, Unprofitably travelling towards the grave.
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Men who can hear the Decalogue, and feel To self-reproach.
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That to this mountain-daisy's self were known The beauty of its star-shaped shadow, thrown On the smooth surface of this naked stone!
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Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!
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I'll teach my boy the sweetest things I'll teach him how the owlet sings.
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