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In ourselves our safety must be sought. By our own right hand it must be wrought.

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
Wrought
Sought
Safety
Hand
Hands
Right
Must

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Oh, be wise, Thou! Instructed that true knowledge leads to love.
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Sad fancies do we then affect, In luxury of disrespect To our own prodigal excess Of too familiar happiness.
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The mysteries that cups of flowers infold And all the gorgeous sights which fairies do behold.
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She seemed a thing that could not feel the touch of earthly years.
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The first cuckoo's melancholy cry.
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A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard... Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.
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Milton, thou should'st be living at this hour.
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Babylon, Learned and wise, hath perished utterly, Nor leaves her speech one word to aid the sigh That would lament her.
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As generations come and go, Their arts, their customs, ebb and flow Fate, fortune, sweep strong powers away, And feeble, of themselves, decay.
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I listened, motionless and still And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.
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True beauty dwells in deep retreats, Whose veil is unremoved Till heart with heart in concord beats, And the lover is beloved.
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We Poets in our youth begin in gladness But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
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The feather, whence the pen Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men, Dropped from an angel's wing.
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Since every mortal power of Coleridge Was frozen at its marvellous source, The rapt one, of the godlike forehead, The heaven-eyed creature sleeps in earth: And Lamb, the frolic and the gentle, Has vanished from his lonely hearth.
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Yet tears to human suffering are due And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown Are mourned by man, and not by man alone.
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His high endeavours are an inward light That makes the path before him always bright.
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The mind of man is a thousand times more beautiful than the earth on which he dwells.
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Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit, and play with similes, Loose type of things through all degrees.
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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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