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One impulse from a vernal wood

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
Impulse
Vernal
Wood

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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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But who shall parcel out His intellect by geometric rules, Split like a province into round and square?
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A brotherhood of venerable trees.
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Free as a bird to settle where I will.
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How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold.
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The child is father of the man: And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.
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I am already kindly disposed towards you. My friendship it is not in my power to give: this is a gift which no man can make, it is not in our own power: a sound and healthy friendship is the growth of time and circumstance, it will spring up and thrive like a wildflower when these favour, and when they do not, it is in vain to look for it.
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Then my heart with pleasure fills And dances with the daffodils.
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The tears into his eyes were brought, And thanks and praises seemed to run So fast out of his heart, I thought They never would have done. -I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds With coldness still returning Alas! the gratitude of men Hath oftener left me mourning.
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Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none / Look up a second time, and, one by one, / You mark them twinkling out with silvery light, / And wonder how they could elude the sight!
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Strongest minds are often those whom the noisy world hears least.
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Or shipwrecked, kindles on the coast False fires, that others may be lost.
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But thou that didst appear so fair To fond imagination, Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation.
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When from our better selves we have too long been parted by the hurrying world, and droop. Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, how gracious, how benign is solitude.
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We live by admiration, hope and love.
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The memory of the just survives in Heaven.
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The budding rose above the rose full blown.
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By happy chance we saw A twofold image: on a grassy bank A snow-white ram, and in the crystal flood Another and the same!
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The silence that is in the starry sky, / The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
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The very flowers are sacred to the poor.
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