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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.
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
Freedom
Milton
Free
Morals
Faith
Shakespeare
Speak
Held
Death
Tongue
Must
Hold
Moral
Dies
Spake
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice The confidence of reason give, And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live!
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And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love.
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But who is innocent? By grace divine, Not otherwise,O Nature! we are thine.
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The mysteries that cups of flowers infold And all the gorgeous sights which fairies do behold.
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Either still I find Some imperfection in the chosen theme, Or see of absolute accomplishment Much wanting, so much wanting, in myself, That I recoil and droop, and seek repose In listlessness from vain perplexity, Unprofitably travelling towards the grave.
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Tis said, fantastic ocean doth enfold The likeness of whate'er on land is seen.
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And now I see with eye serene, The very pulse of the machine. A being breathing thoughtful breaths, A traveler between life and death.
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Great God! I'd rather be a Pagan.
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We murder to dissect.
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A deep distress has humanised my soul.
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A babe, by intercourse of touch I held mute dialogues with my Mother's heart.
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We live by admiration, hope and love.
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Tis not in battles that from youth we train The Governor who must be wise and good, And temper with the sternness of the brain Thoughts motherly, and meek as womanhood.
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The primal duties shine aloft, like stars The charities that soothe, and heal, and bless, Are scattered at the feet of Man, like flowers.
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Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower.
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Rest and be thankful.
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Often have I sighed to measure By myself a lonely pleasure,- Sighed to think I read a book, Only read, perhaps, by me.
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A Primrose by a river's brim A yellow primrose was to him And it was something more.
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Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!
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Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
William Wordsworth
