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While all the future, for thy purer soul, With sober certainties of love is blest.

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
Blest
Purer
Sober
Certainty
Future
Soul
Love
Life
Certainties

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My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began So is it now I am a man.
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When his veering gait And every motion of his starry train Seem governed by a strain Of music, audible to him alone.
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Knowing that Nature never did betray the heart that loved her 'tis her privilege, through all the years of this our life, to lead from joy to joy.
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As high as we have mounted in delight, In our dejection do we sink as low.
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Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.
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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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Brothers all In honour, as in one community, Scholars and gentlemen.
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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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For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.
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Then my heart with pleasure fills And dances with the daffodils.
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Every gift of noble origin Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath.
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And what if thou, sweet May, hast known Mishap by worm and blight If expectations newly blown Have perished in thy sight If loves and joys, while up they sprung, Were caught as in a snare Such is the lot of all the young, However bright and fair.
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The first cuckoo's melancholy cry.
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Those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realised, High instincts before which our mortal Nature Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised
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We Poets in our youth begin in gladness But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
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It is the 1st mild day of March. Each minute sweeter than before... there is a blessing in the air.
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Now when the primrose makes a splendid show, And lilies face the March-winds in full blow, And humbler growths as moved with one desire Put on, to welcome spring, their best attire, Poor Robin is yet flowerless but how gay With his red stalks upon this sunny day!
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Plain living and high thinking are no more.
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Rest and be thankful.
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On a fair prospect some have looked, And felt, as I have heard them say, As if the moving time had been A thing as steadfast as the scene On which they gazed themselves away.
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