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Give all thou canst high Heaven rejects the lore of nicely-caluculated less or more.
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
Generosity
Charity
Thou
Lore
High
Canst
Heaven
Nicely
Less
Philanthropic
Give
Philanthropy
Giving
Rejects
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Scorn not the sonnet. Critic, you have frowned, Mindless of its just honours with this key Shakespeare unlocked his heart.
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Sweet childish days, that were as long, As twenty days are now.
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True beauty dwells in deep retreats, Whose veil is unremoved Till heart with heart in concord beats, And the lover is beloved.
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We live by admiration, hope and love.
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Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence.
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A Briton even in love should be A subject, not a slave!
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Choice word and measured phrase above the reach Of ordinary men.
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As thou these ashes, little brook, wilt bear Into the Avon, Avon to the tide Of Severn, Severn to the narrow seas, Into main ocean they, this deed accursed An emblem yields to friends and enemies How the bold teacher's doctrine, sanctified By truth, shall spread, throughout the world dispersed.
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Books! tis a dull and endless strife: Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music! on my life, There's more of wisdom in it.
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Then my heart with pleasure fills And dances with the daffodils.
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Wisdom and spirit of the Universe!
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Lady of the Mere, Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance.
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I've watched you now a full half-hour Self-poised upon that yellow flower And, little Butterfly! Indeed I know not if you sleep or feed. How motionless! - not frozen seas More motionless! and then What joy awaits you, when the breeze Hath found you out among the trees, And calls you forth again!
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Ah, what a warning for a thoughtless man, Could field or grove, could any spot of earth, Show to his eye an image of the pangs Which it hath witnessed,-render back an echo Of the sad steps by which it hath been trod!
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Then blame not those who, by the mightiest lever Known to the moral world, Imagination.
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Our meddling intellect Misshapes the beauteous forms of things We murder to dissect
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A Primrose by a river's brim A yellow primrose was to him And it was something more.
William Wordsworth
Poetry is most just to its divine origin, when it administers the comforts and breathes the thoughts of religion.
William Wordsworth
Ten thousand saw I at a glance, tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
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What is pride? A rocket that emulates the stars.
William Wordsworth
