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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
Things
Cleave
Mild
Gentle
Glory
Happiness

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For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.
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To be a Prodigal's favourite,-then, worse truth, A Miser's pensioner,-behold our lot!
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The child shall become father to the man.
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And now I see with eye serene, The very pulse of the machine. A being breathing thoughtful breaths, A traveler between life and death.
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Delight and liberty, the simple creed of childhood.
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It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the sea: Listen! the mighty being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thundereverlastingly.
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Minds that have nothing to confer Find little to perceive.
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Type of the wise who soar but never roam, True to the kindred points of heaven and home.
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That blessed mood in which the burthen of the mystery, in which the heavy and the weary weight of all this unintelligible world is lightened.
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A Briton even in love should be A subject, not a slave!
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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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The daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.
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A brotherhood of venerable trees.
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Habit rules the unreflecting herd.
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Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge it is the impassioned expression which is in the countenance of all Science
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The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, An appetite a feeling and a love that had no need of a remoter charm by thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.
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Give all thou canst high Heaven rejects the lore of nicely-caluculated less or more.
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Elysian beauty, melancholy grace, Brought from a pensive though a happy place.
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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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