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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
Look
Clouds
Nothing
Miss
Wandering
Scared
Joyous
Looks
Missing
Cloud
Heart
Liberty
Guide
Way
Cannot
Wander
Earth
Guides
Better
Chosen
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Great men have been among us hands that penn'd And tongues that utter'd wisdom--better none
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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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A tale in everything.
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A multitude of causes unknown to former times are now acting with a combined force to blunt the discriminating powers of the mind, and unfitting it for all voluntary exertion to reduce it to a state of almost savage torpor.
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The harvest of a quiet eye, That broods and sleeps on his own heart.
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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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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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Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns.
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Either still I find Some imperfection in the chosen theme, Or see of absolute accomplishment Much wanting, so much wanting, in myself, That I recoil and droop, and seek repose In listlessness from vain perplexity, Unprofitably travelling towards the grave.
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Strongest minds are often those whom the noisy world hears least.
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Books are yours, Within whose silent chambers treasure lies Preserved from age to age more precious far Than that accumulated store of gold And orient gems, which, for a day of need, The Sultan hides deep in ancestral tombs. These hoards of truth you can unlock at will.
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My apprehension comes in crowds, I dread the rustling of the grass, The very shadows of the clouds, Have power to shake me as they pass, I question things and do not find, one that will answer to my mind, And all the world appears unkind.
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in the mind of man, A motion and a spirit, that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things.
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Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will Dear God! the very houses seem asleep And all that mighty heart is lying still!
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A simple child. That lightly draws its breath. And feels its life in every limb. What should it know of death?
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That blessed mood in which the burthen of the mystery, in which the heavy and the weary weight of all this unintelligible world is lightened.
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The world is too much with us late and soon, getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours.
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Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade Of that which once was great is passed away.
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One in whom persuasion and belief Had ripened into faith, and faith become A passionate intuition.
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The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone
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