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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
Forgive
Forgiveness
Forgiving
Justice
Best
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep/ Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind.
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The wealthiest man among us is the best
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A brotherhood of venerable trees.
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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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Dreams, books, are each a world and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good: Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow.
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A few strong instincts and a few plain rules.
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A mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of Thought, alone.
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Me this uncharted freedom tires I feel the weight of chance desires, My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose that ever is the same.
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And mighty poets in their misery dead.
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There is a luxury in self-dispraise And inward self-disparagement affords To meditative spleen a grateful feast.
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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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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 memory of the just survives in Heaven.
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How fast has brother followed brother, From sunshine to the sunless land!
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Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
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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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Pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.
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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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The gods approve The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul.
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Milton, thou should'st be living at this hour.
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