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Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive But to be young was very heaven.

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
Prelude
Bliss
Dawn
Alive
Heaven
Young

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Poetry is emotion recollected in tranquillity.
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Death is the quiet haven of us all.
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A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard... Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.
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In years that bring the philosophic mind.
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Let Nature be your teacher
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Be mild, and cleave to gentle things, thy glory and thy happiness be there.
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Thou has left behind Powers that will work for thee,-air, earth, and skies! There 's not a breathing of the common wind That will forget thee thou hast great allies Thy friends are exultations, agonies, And love, and man's unconquerable mind.
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Science appears but what in truth she is, Not as our glory and our absolute boast, But as a succedaneum, and a prop To our infirmity.
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Sweetest melodies.Are those that are by distance made more sweet.
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Then my heart with pleasure fills And dances with the daffodils.
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Truth takes no account of centuries.
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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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I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills When all at once I saw a crowd A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake beneath the trees Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
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How fast has brother followed brother, From sunshine to the sunless land!
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My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began So is it now I am a man So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The Child is father of the Man I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.
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It is the 1st mild day of March. Each minute sweeter than before... there is a blessing in the air.
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Poetry is most just to its divine origin, when it administers the comforts and breathes the thoughts of religion.
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That mighty orb of song, The divine Milton.
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To the solid ground Of nature trusts the Mind that builds for aye.
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The childhood of today is the manhood of tomorrow
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