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poetry is the breath and finer spirit of knowledge

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
Breaths
Poetry
Knowledge
Spirit
Impassioned
Finer
Breath

More quotes by William Wordsworth

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By happy chance we saw A twofold image: on a grassy bank A snow-white ram, and in the crystal flood Another and the same!
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I should dread to disfigure the beautiful ideal of the memories of illustrious persons with incongruous features, and to sully the imaginative purity of classical works with gross and trivial recollections.
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The ocean is a mighty harmonist.
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What is pride? A rocket that emulates the stars.
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While all the future, for thy purer soul, With sober certainties of love is blest.
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Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee! . . . . . . Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart: So didst thou travel on life's common way In cheerful godliness.
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The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration.
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The Poet, gentle creature as he is, Hath, like the Lover, his unruly times His fits when he is neither sick nor well, Though no distress be near him but his own Unmanageable thoughts.
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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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Knowing that Nature never did betray the heart that loved her 'tis her privilege, through all the years of this our life, to lead from joy to joy.
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What we have loved Others will love And we will teach them how.
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I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts a sense sublime of something far more deeply interfused, whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, and the round ocean, and the living air, and the blue sky, and in the mind of man.
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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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The wind, a sightless laborer, whistles at his task.
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But hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity.
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Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower, We feel that we are greater than we know.
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A tale in everything.
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The sightless Milton, with his hair Around his placid temples curled And Shakespeare at his side,-a freight, If clay could think and mind were weight, For him who bore the world!
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The vision and the faculty divine Yet wanting the accomplishment of verse.
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Sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart.
William Wordsworth