Quote

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things: We murder to dissect.

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
Things
Intellect
Murder
Brings
Forms
Shapes
Beauteous
Sweet
Dissect
Nature
Lore
Form
Meddling

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Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice The confidence of reason give, And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live!
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With battlements that on their restless fronts Bore stars.
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All that we behold is full of blessings.
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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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Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.
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Brothers all In honour, as in one community, Scholars and gentlemen.
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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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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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To be young was very heaven!
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Science appears but what in truth she is, Not as our glory and our absolute boast, But as a succedaneum, and a prop To our infirmity.
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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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Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour Have passed away less happy than the one That by the unwilling ploughshare died to prove The tender charm of poetry and love.
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