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Let Nature be your teacher

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
Teacher
Natural
Science
Nature

More quotes by William Wordsworth

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The daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.
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Or shipwrecked, kindles on the coast False fires, that others may be lost.
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That mighty orb of song, The divine Milton.
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Fear is a cloak which old men huddle about their love, as if to keep it warm.
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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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Whom neither shape of danger can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray.
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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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Yon foaming flood seems motionless as iceIts dizzy turbulence eludes the eye,Frozen by distance.
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One solace yet remains for us who came Into this world in days when story lacked Severe research, that in our hearts we know How, for exciting youth's heroic flame, Assent is power, belief the soul of fact.
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A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable.
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The thought of our past years in me doth breed perpetual benedictions.
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Imagination is the means of deep insight and sympathy, the power to conceive and express images removed from normal objective reality.
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And now I see with eye serene, The very pulse of the machine. A being breathing thoughtful breaths, A traveler between life and death.
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Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.
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There's something in a flying horse, There's something in a huge balloon.
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As generations come and go, Their arts, their customs, ebb and flow Fate, fortune, sweep strong powers away, And feeble, of themselves, decay.
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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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Burn all the statutes and their shelves: They stir us up against our kind And worse, against ourselves.
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The unconquerable pang of despised love.
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What is good for a bootless bene? With these dark words begins my tale And their meaning is, Whence can comfort spring When prayer is of no avail?
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