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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

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And when a damp Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand The thing became a trumpet whence he blew Soul-animating strains,-alas! too few.
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The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone
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Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep/ Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind.
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Recognizes ever and anon The breeze of Nature stirring in his soul.
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Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!
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It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the sea: Listen! the mighty being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thundereverlastingly.
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Mark the babe not long accustomed to this breathing world One that hath barely learned to shape a smile, though yet irrational of soul, to grasp with tiny finger - to let fall a tear And, as the heavy cloud of sleep dissolves, To stretch his limbs, becoming, as might seem. The outward functions of intelligent man.
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And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love.
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The ocean is a mighty harmonist.
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Then my heart with pleasure fills And dances with the daffodils.
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The Poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society.
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A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free.
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Come forth into the light of things, let nature be your teacher.
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There is a comfort in the strength of love 'Twill make a thing endurable, which else would overset the brain, or break the heart.
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Wild is the music of autumnal winds Amongst the faded woods.
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Earth helped him with the cry of blood.
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