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The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, burn to the socket.
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
Firsts
Dry
First
Burn
Heart
Dust
Good
Hearts
Summer
Whose
Dies
Death
Socket
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Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind--But how could I forget thee?
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Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky! Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound? Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground?
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Take the sweet poetry of life away, and what remains behind?
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O dearer far than light and life are dear.
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But He is risen, a later star of dawn.
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There's something in a flying horse, There's something in a huge balloon.
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If thou art beautiful, and youth and thought endue thee with all truth-be strong--be worthy of the grace of God.
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We must be free or die, who speak the tongue That Shakespeare spake the faith and morals hold Which Milton held.
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A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by One after one the sound of rain, and bees Murmuring the fall of rivers, winds and seas, Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky - I've thought of all by turns, and still I lie Sleepless.
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Shalt show us how divine a thing A woman may be made.
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Worse than idle is compassion if it ends in tears and sighs.
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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.
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The child is the father of man.
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Bright was the summer's noon when quickening steps Followed each other till a dreary moor Was crossed, a bare ridge clomb, upon whose top Standing alone, as from a rampart's edge, I overlooked the bed of Windermere, Like a vast river, stretching in the sun.
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Imagination is the means of deep insight and sympathy, the power to conceive and express images removed from normal objective reality.
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That best portion of a man's life, his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.
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Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.
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Truths that wake To perish never
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Let Nature be your teacher
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