Quote

The earth was all before me. With a heart Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty, I look about and should the chosen guide Be nothing better than a wandering cloud, I cannot miss my way.

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
Way
Liberty
Guide
Cannot
Wander
Earth
Guides
Better
Chosen
Look
Clouds
Nothing
Miss
Wandering
Looks
Scared
Joyous
Heart
Missing
Cloud

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To character and success, two things, contradictory as they may seem, must go together... humble dependence on God and manly reliance on self.
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The light that never was, on sea or land The consecration, and the Poet's dream.
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Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive But to be young was very heaven.
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Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit, and play with similes, Loose type of things through all degrees.
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When men change swords for ledgers, and desert The student's bower for gold, some fears unnamed I had, my Country--am I to be blamed?
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Let Nature be your teacher
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Prompt to move but firm to wait - knowing things rashly sought are rarely found.
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Great men have been among us hands that penn'd And tongues that utter'd wisdom--better none
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He who feels contempt for any living thing hath faculties that he hath never used, and thought with him is in its infancy.
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But trailing clouds of glory do we come, From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy!.
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The Poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society.
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One solace yet remains for us who came Into this world in days when story lacked Severe research, that in our hearts we know How, for exciting youth's heroic flame, Assent is power, belief the soul of fact.
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We bow our heads before Thee, and we laud, And magnify thy name Almighty God! But man is thy most awful instrument, In working out a pure intent.
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the Mind of Man-- My haunt, and the main region of my song.
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No motion has she now, no force she neither hears nor sees rolled around in earth's diurnal course, with rocks, and stones, and trees.
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Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed Their snow-white blossoms on my head, With brightest sunshine round me spread Of spring's unclouded weather, In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard-seat! And birds and flowers once more to greet, My last year's friends together.
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Because the good old rule Sufficeth them,-the simple plan, That they should take who have the power, And they should keep who can.
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Whom neither shape of danger can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray.
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Look at the fate of summer flowers, which blow at daybreak, droop ere even-song.
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But an old age serene and bright, and lovely as a Lapland night, shall lead thee to thy grave.
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