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Great God! I'd rather be a Pagan.

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
Rather
Great
Pagan

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Babylon, Learned and wise, hath perished utterly, Nor leaves her speech one word to aid the sigh That would lament her.
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A light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove.
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I look for ghosts but none will force Their way to me. 'Tis falsely said That there was ever intercourse Between the living and the dead.
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Dust as we are, the immortal spirit grows Like harmony in music there is a dark Inscrutable workmanship that reconciles Discordant elements, makes them cling together In one society.
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Our meddling intellect Misshapes the beauteous forms of things We murder to dissect
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Everything is tedious when one does not read with the feeling of the Author.
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The Eagle, he was lord above
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Choice word and measured phrase above the reach Of ordinary men.
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But who shall parcel out His intellect by geometric rules, Split like a province into round and square?
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Poetry is emotion recollected in tranquillity.
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Oh, blank confusion! true epitome Of what the mighty City is herself, To thousands upon thousands of her sons, Living amid the same perpetual whirl Of trivial objects, melted and reduced To one identity.
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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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Whom neither shape of danger can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray.
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Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry and these we adore Plain living and high thinking are no more.
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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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