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A mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of Thought, alone.
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
Seas
Sculpture
Sea
Strange
Alone
Forever
Voyaging
Thought
Prisms
Mind
Prelude
More quotes by William Wordsworth
To be young was very heaven!
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Strongest minds are often those whom the noisy world hears least.
William Wordsworth
Milton, in his hand The thing became a trumpet
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For nature then to me was all in all.
William Wordsworth
The clouds that gather round the setting sun, Do take a sober colouring from an eye, That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality.
William Wordsworth
Sweet is the lore which Nature brings Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things: We murder to dissect.
William Wordsworth
Poetry is most just to its divine origin, when it administers the comforts and breathes the thoughts of religion.
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But to a higher mark than song can reach, Rose this pure eloquence.
William Wordsworth
True dignity abides with him alone Who, in the silent hour of inward thought, Can still suspect, and still revere himself, In lowliness of heart.
William Wordsworth
A Primrose by a river's brim A yellow primrose was to him And it was something more.
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What are fears but voices airy? Whispering harm where harm is not. And deluding the unwary Till the fatal bolt is shot!
William Wordsworth
A deep distress has humanised my soul.
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Faith is a passionate intuition.
William Wordsworth
I'll teach my boy the sweetest things I'll teach him how the owlet sings.
William Wordsworth
What is good for a bootless bene? With these dark words begins my tale And their meaning is, Whence can comfort spring When prayer is of no avail?
William Wordsworth
Enough, if something from our hands have power To live, and act, and serve the future hour And if, as toward the silent tomb we go, Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower, We feel that we are greater than we know.
William Wordsworth
The intellectual power, through words and things, Went sounding on a dim and perilous way!
William Wordsworth
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain That has been, and may be again.
William Wordsworth
Pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.
William Wordsworth
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.
William Wordsworth
