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Come grow old with me. The best is yet to be.
William Wordsworth
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William Wordsworth
Age: 80 †
Born: 1770
Born: April 7
Died: 1850
Died: April 23
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Cockermouth
Cumbria
Wordsworth
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More quotes by William Wordsworth
When from our better selves we have too long been parted by the hurrying world, and droop. Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, how gracious, how benign is solitude.
William Wordsworth
I listened, motionless and still And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.
William Wordsworth
The thought of our past years in me doth breed perpetual benedictions.
William Wordsworth
Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
William Wordsworth
Meek Nature's evening comment on the shows That for oblivion take their daily birth From all the fuming vanities of earth.
William Wordsworth
The wind, a sightless laborer, whistles at his task.
William Wordsworth
Milton, thou should'st be living at this hour.
William Wordsworth
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain That has been, and may be again.
William Wordsworth
The first cuckoo's melancholy cry.
William Wordsworth
Books are the best type of the influence of the past.
William Wordsworth
Sad fancies do we then affect, In luxury of disrespect To our own prodigal excess Of too familiar happiness.
William Wordsworth
My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.
William Wordsworth
Memories... images and precious thoughts that shall not die and cannot be destroyed.
William Wordsworth
Sweetest melodies.Are those that are by distance made more sweet.
William Wordsworth
Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies, Let them live upon their praises.
William Wordsworth
Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither.
William Wordsworth
Sweet is the lore which Nature brings Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things: We murder to dissect.
William Wordsworth
Like an army defeated The snow hath retreated, And now doth fare ill On the top of the bare hill The Ploughboy is whooping — anon — anon! There's joy in the mountains: There's life in the fountains Small clouds are sailing, Blue sky prevailing The rain is over and gone.
William Wordsworth
For oft, when on my couch I lie in vacant or in pensive mood they flash upon that inward eye which is the bliss of solitude
William Wordsworth
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers.
William Wordsworth
