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I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts a sense sublime of something far more deeply interfused, whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, and the round ocean, and the living air, and the blue sky, and in the mind of man.

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
Felt
Sun
Settings
Light
Blue
Round
Mind
Air
Rounds
Something
Whose
Setting
Disturbs
Men
Thoughts
Deeply
Suns
Life
Joy
Presence
Elevated
Living
Sky
Dwelling
Sense
Ocean
Sublime

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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!
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Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretch'd in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
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The child shall become father to the man.
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Poetry is most just to its divine origin, when it administers the comforts and breathes the thoughts of religion.
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As in the eye of Nature he has lived, So in the eye of Nature let him die!
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Write to me frequently & the longest letters possible never mind whether you have facts or no to communicate fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
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My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.
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But who shall parcel out His intellect by geometric rules, Split like a province into round and square?
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A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable.
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The wind, a sightless laborer, whistles at his task.
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The monumental pomp of age Was with this goodly personage A stature undepressed in size, Unbent, which rather seemed to rise In open victory o'er the weight Of seventy years, to loftier height.
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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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Books are yours, Within whose silent chambers treasure lies Preserved from age to age more precious far Than that accumulated store of gold And orient gems, which, for a day of need, The Sultan hides deep in ancestral tombs. These hoards of truth you can unlock at will.
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Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade Of that which once was great is passed away.
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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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And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love.
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By all means sometimes be alone salute thyself see what thy soul doth wear dare to look in thy chest and tumble up and down what thou findest there.
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And often, glad no more, We wear a face of joy because We have been glad of yore.
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Truths that wake To perish never
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A babe, by intercourse of touch I held mute dialogues with my Mother's heart.
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