Quote

For mightier far Than strength of nerve or sinew, or the sway Of magic potent over sun and star, Is love, though oft to agony distrest, And though his favourite be feeble woman's breast.

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
Star
Potent
Love
Sun
Feeble
Life
Magic
Nerve
Strength
Breast
Stars
Agony
Favourite
Sinew
Though
Nerves
Mightier
Woman
Breasts
Sway
Women

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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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The ocean is a mighty harmonist.
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What are fears but voices airy? Whispering harm where harm is not. And deluding the unwary Till the fatal bolt is shot!
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Thou has left behind Powers that will work for thee,-air, earth, and skies! There 's not a breathing of the common wind That will forget thee thou hast great allies Thy friends are exultations, agonies, And love, and man's unconquerable mind.
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A perfect woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light
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The oldest man he seemed that ever wore grey hairs.
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One that would peep and botanize Upon his mother's grave.
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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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Sweet childish days, that were as long, As twenty days are now.
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Sweet Mercy! to the gates of heaven This minstrel lead, his sins forgiven The rueful conflict, the heart riven With vain endeavour, And memory of Earth's bitter leaven Effaced forever.
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That to this mountain-daisy's self were known The beauty of its star-shaped shadow, thrown On the smooth surface of this naked stone!
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But how can he expect that others should Build for him, sow for him, and at his call Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all?
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Even thus last night, and two nights more I lay, And could not win thee, Sleep, by any stealth: So do not let me wear to-night away. Without thee what is all the morning's wealth? Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
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That best portion of a man's life, his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.
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All men feel a habitual gratitude, and something of an honorable bigotry, for the objects which have long continued to please them.
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With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things.
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How is it that you live, and what is it you do?
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The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.
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A deep distress has humanised my soul.
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Faith is a passionate intuition.
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