Quote

The eye— it cannot choose but see we cannot bid the ear be still our bodies feel, where'er they be, against or with our will.

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
Body
Feel
Bodies
Feels
Ears
Choose
Eye
Cannot
Stills
Still

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A light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove.
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And what if thou, sweet May, hast known Mishap by worm and blight If expectations newly blown Have perished in thy sight If loves and joys, while up they sprung, Were caught as in a snare Such is the lot of all the young, However bright and fair.
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The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration.
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The harvest of a quiet eye, That broods and sleeps on his own heart.
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For mightier far Than strength of nerve or sinew, or the sway Of magic potent over sun and star, Is love, though oft to agony distrest, And though his favourite be feeble woman's breast.
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What are fears but voices airy? Whispering harm where harm is not. And deluding the unwary Till the fatal bolt is shot!
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Every gift of noble origin Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath.
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The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, That no philosophy can lift.
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Books are the best type of the influence of the past.
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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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He murmurs near the running brooks A music sweeter than their own.
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As high as we have mounted in delight, In our dejection do we sink as low.
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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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These hoards of wealth you can unlock at will.
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The education of circumstances is superior to that of tuition.
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But who would force the soul tilts with a straw Against a champion cased in adamant
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Spires whose silent finger points to heaven.
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One that would peep and botanize Upon his mother's grave.
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I travelled among unknown men, In lands beyond the sea Nor England! did I know till then What love I bore to thee.
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The gods approve The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul.
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