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We live by Admiration, Hope, and Love And, even as these are well and wisely fixed, In dignity of being we ascend.

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
Even
Wisely
Love
Admiration
Life
Fixed
Dignity
Hope
Live
Wells
Well
Ascend

More quotes by William Wordsworth

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Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower, The periwinkle trailed its wreaths And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes.
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Wrongs unredressed, or insults unavenged.
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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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A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable.
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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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She gave me eyes, she gave me ears And humble cares, and delicate fears A heart, the fountain of sweet tears And love and thought and joy.
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What we have loved Others will love And we will teach them how.
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Spade! Thou art a tool of honor in my hands. I press thee, through a yielding soil, with pride.
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And the most difficult of tasks to keep Heights which the soul is competent to gain.
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Everything is tedious when one does not read with the feeling of the Author.
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Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!
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Elysian beauty, melancholy grace, Brought from a pensive though a happy place.
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No motion has she now, no force she neither hears nor sees rolled around in earth's diurnal course, with rocks, and stones, and trees.
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Therefore am I still a lover of the meadows and the woods, and mountains and of all that we behold from this green earth.
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my brain Worked with a dim and undetermined sense Of unknown modes of being o'er my thoughts There hung a darkness, call it solitude Or blank desertion.
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Love betters what is best
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Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.
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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting. Not in entire forgetfulness, and not in utter nakedness, but trailing clouds of glory do we come.
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Every gift of noble origin Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath.
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Golf is a day spent in a round of strenuous idleness.
William Wordsworth