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The best of what we do and are, Just God, forgive!

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
Best
Forgive
Forgiveness
Forgiving
Justice

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Poetry is the first and last of all knowledge - it is as immortal as the heart of man.
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Like an army defeated The snow hath retreated, And now doth fare ill On the top of the bare hill The Ploughboy is whooping — anon — anon! There's joy in the mountains: There's life in the fountains Small clouds are sailing, Blue sky prevailing The rain is over and gone.
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Nor less I deem that there are Powers Which of themselves our minds impress That we can feed this mind of ours In a wise passiveness
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Minds that have nothing to confer Find little to perceive.
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Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.
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Then my heart with pleasure fills And dances with the daffodils.
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We must be free or die, who speak the tongue That Shakespeare spake the faith and morals hold Which Milton held.
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He loves not well whose love is bold! I would not have thee come too nigh. The sun's gold would not seem pure gold Unless the sun were in the sky: To take him thence and chain him near Would make his beauty disappear. William Winter, Love's Queen. The unconquerable pang of despised love.
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A famous man is Robin Hood, The English ballad-singer's joy.
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Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
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Stay, little cheerful Robin! stay, And at my casement sing, Though it should prove a farewell lay And this our parting spring. * * * * * Then, little Bird, this boon confer, Come, and my requiem sing, Nor fail to be the harbinger Of everlasting spring.
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Oft in my way have I stood still, though but a casual passenger, so much I felt the awfulness of life.
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The Eagle, he was lord above
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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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