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From the body of one guilty deed a thousand ghostly fears and haunting thoughts proceed.
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
Guilty
Deeds
Thoughts
Ghostly
Thousand
Haunting
Body
Proceed
Deed
Fears
Forgiveness
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Oh, be wise, Thou! Instructed that true knowledge leads to love.
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I've watched you now a full half-hour Self-poised upon that yellow flower And, little Butterfly! Indeed I know not if you sleep or feed. How motionless! - not frozen seas More motionless! and then What joy awaits you, when the breeze Hath found you out among the trees, And calls you forth again!
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A few strong instincts and a few plain rules.
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Or shipwrecked, kindles on the coast False fires, that others may be lost.
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Faith is, necessary to explain anything, and to reconcile the foreknowledge of God with human evil.
William Wordsworth
And when the stream Which overflowed the soul was passed away, A consciousness remained that it had left Deposited upon the silent shore Of memory images and precious thoughts That shall not die, and cannot be destroyed.
William Wordsworth
How many undervalue the power of simplicity ! But it is the real key to the heart.
William Wordsworth
For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.
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A brotherhood of venerable trees.
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For oft, when on my couch I lie in vacant or in pensive mood they flash upon that inward eye which is the bliss of solitude
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But who would force the soul tilts with a straw Against a champion cased in adamant
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Every gift of noble origin Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath.
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We live by admiration, hope and love.
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The streams with softest sound are flowing, The grass you almost hear it growing, You hear it now, if e'er you can.
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Heaven lies about us in our infancy.
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May books and nature be their early joy!
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What we have loved Others will love And we will teach them how.
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He spake of love, such love as spirits feel In worlds whose course is equable and pure No fears to beat away, no strife to heal,- The past unsighed for, and the future sure.
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She was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight, A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament Her eyes as stars of twilight fair, Like twilights too her dusky hair, But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful dawn.
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Oh, blank confusion! true epitome Of what the mighty City is herself, To thousands upon thousands of her sons, Living amid the same perpetual whirl Of trivial objects, melted and reduced To one identity.
William Wordsworth
