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The child is the father of man.

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
Children
Men
Child
Father

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Books! tis a dull and endless strife: Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music! on my life, There's more of wisdom in it.
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Tis said, fantastic ocean doth enfold The likeness of whate'er on land is seen.
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Either still I find Some imperfection in the chosen theme, Or see of absolute accomplishment Much wanting, so much wanting, in myself, That I recoil and droop, and seek repose In listlessness from vain perplexity, Unprofitably travelling towards the grave.
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The Eagle, he was lord above
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Ah, what a warning for a thoughtless man, Could field or grove, could any spot of earth, Show to his eye an image of the pangs Which it hath witnessed,-render back an echo Of the sad steps by which it hath been trod!
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The best of what we do and are, Just God, forgive!
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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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A lawyer art thou? Draw not nigh! Go, carry to some fitter place The keenness of that practised eye, The hardness of that sallow face.
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Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
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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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The Rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the Rose.
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Every great and original writer, in proportion as he is great and original, must himself create the taste by which he is to be relished.
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The oldest man he seemed that ever wore grey hairs.
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While all the future, for thy purer soul, With sober certainties of love is blest.
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Science appears but what in truth she is, Not as our glory and our absolute boast, But as a succedaneum, and a prop To our infirmity.
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Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive But to be young was very heaven.
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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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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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Hope smiled when your nativity was cast, Children of Summer!
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I travelled among unknown men, In lands beyond the sea Nor England! did I know till then What love I bore to thee.
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