Quote

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

William Wordsworth

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

William Wordsworth
Age: 80 †
Born: 1770
Born: April 7
Died: 1850
Died: April 23
Lyricist
Poet
Cockermouth
Cumbria
Wordsworth
Form
Meddling
Things
Intellect
Murder
Brings
Forms
Shapes
Beauteous
Sweet
Dissect
Nature
Lore

More quotes by William Wordsworth

Image
Great God! I'd rather be a Pagan.
William Wordsworth
Image
Delight and liberty, the simple creed of childhood.
William Wordsworth
Image
Great men have been among us hands that penn'd And tongues that utter'd wisdom--better none
William Wordsworth
Image
Whom neither shape of danger can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray.
William Wordsworth
Image
Rapt into still communion that transcends The imperfect offices of prayer and praise, His mind was a thanksgiving to the power That made him it was blessedness and love!
William Wordsworth
Image
The mind that is wise mourns less for what age takes away than what it leaves behind.
William Wordsworth
Image
Stop thinking for once in your life!
William Wordsworth
Image
'T is hers to pluck the amaranthine flower Of faith, and round the sufferer's temples bind Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower, And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind.
William Wordsworth
Image
Let beeves and home-bred kine partake The sweets of Burn-mill meadow The swan on still St. Mary's Lake Float double, swan and shadow!
William Wordsworth
Image
The softest breeze to fairest flowers gives birth: Think not that Prudence dwells in dark abodes, She scans the future with the eye of gods.
William Wordsworth
Image
How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold.
William Wordsworth
Image
Great God! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn
William Wordsworth
Image
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!
William Wordsworth
Image
Men who can hear the Decalogue, and feel To self-reproach.
William Wordsworth
Image
Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower, The periwinkle trailed its wreaths And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes.
William Wordsworth
Image
Now when the primrose makes a splendid show, And lilies face the March-winds in full blow, And humbler growths as moved with one desire Put on, to welcome spring, their best attire, Poor Robin is yet flowerless but how gay With his red stalks upon this sunny day!
William Wordsworth
Image
In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay Tribute to ease and, of its joy secure, The heart luxuriates with indifferent things, Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones, And on the vacant air.
William Wordsworth
Image
Choice word and measured phrase above the reach Of ordinary men.
William Wordsworth
Image
Every great and original writer, in proportion as he is great and original, must himself create the taste by which he is to be relished.
William Wordsworth
Image
Those old credulities, to Nature dear, Shall they no longer bloom upon the stock Of history?
William Wordsworth