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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
Vernal
Wood
Impulse

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In heaven above, And earth below, they best can serve true gladness Who meet most feelingly the calls of sadness.
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Primroses, the Spring may love them Summer knows but little of them.
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The Poet, gentle creature as he is, Hath, like the Lover, his unruly times His fits when he is neither sick nor well, Though no distress be near him but his own Unmanageable thoughts.
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Like an army defeated the snow hath retreated.
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Whom neither shape of danger can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray.
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My apprehension comes in crowds, I dread the rustling of the grass, The very shadows of the clouds, Have power to shake me as they pass, I question things and do not find, one that will answer to my mind, And all the world appears unkind.
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A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
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Laying out grounds... may be considered as a liberal art, in some sort like poetry and painting.... it is to assist Nature in moving the affections... the affections of those who have the deepest perception of the beauty of Nature.
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Bright flower! whose home is everywhere Bold in maternal nature's care And all the long year through the heir Of joy or sorrow, Methinks that there abides in thee Some concord with humanity, Given to no other flower I see The forest through.
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Those old credulities, to Nature dear, Shall they no longer bloom upon the stock Of history?
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Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers.
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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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The silence that is in the starry sky, / The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
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And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man.
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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar.
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Elysian beauty, melancholy grace, Brought from a pensive though a happy place.
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