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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
Men
Child
Father
Children

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All that we behold is full of blessings.
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That kill the bloom before its time, And blanch, without the owner's crime, The most resplendent hair.
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Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.
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A few strong instincts and a few plain rules.
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Earth has not anything to show more fair.
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Hearing often-times the still, sad music of humanity, nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power to chasten and subdue.
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One of those heavenly days that cannot die.
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Type of the wise who soar but never roam, True to the kindred points of heaven and home.
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There is creation in the eye.
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Laying out grounds may be considered a liberal art, in some sort like poetry and painting.
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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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Dreams, books, are each a world.
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The unconquerable pang of despised love.
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The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, An appetite a feeling and a love that had no need of a remoter charm by thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.
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Behold the Child among his new-born blisses A six years' Darling of a pigmy size! See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, With light upon him from his father's eyes! See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, Some fragment from his dream of human life, Shaped by himself with newly-learned art.
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The first cuckoo's melancholy cry.
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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting. Not in entire forgetfulness, and not in utter nakedness, but trailing clouds of glory do we come.
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Earth helped him with the cry of blood.
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Let Nature be your teacher
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Tis said, fantastic ocean doth enfold The likeness of whate'er on land is seen.
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