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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
Pagan
Rather
Great

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The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, burn to the socket.
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While all the future, for thy purer soul, With sober certainties of love is blest.
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A tale in everything.
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We bow our heads before Thee, and we laud, And magnify thy name Almighty God! But man is thy most awful instrument, In working out a pure intent.
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The earth was all before me. With a heart Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty, I look about and should the chosen guide Be nothing better than a wandering cloud, I cannot miss my way.
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Memories... images and precious thoughts that shall not die and cannot be destroyed.
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Stay, little cheerful Robin! stay, And at my casement sing, Though it should prove a farewell lay And this our parting spring. * * * * * Then, little Bird, this boon confer, Come, and my requiem sing, Nor fail to be the harbinger Of everlasting spring.
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Burn all the statutes and their shelves: They stir us up against our kind And worse, against ourselves.
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The vision and the faculty divine Yet wanting the accomplishment of verse.
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The thought of our past years in me doth breed perpetual benedictions.
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Books! tis a dull and endless strife: Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music! on my life, There's more of wisdom in it.
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