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Like an army defeated the snow hath retreated.

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
Retreated
Defeated
Hath
March
Snow
Army
War
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Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep/ Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind.
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I've watched you now a full half-hour Self-poised upon that yellow flower And, little Butterfly! Indeed I know not if you sleep or feed. How motionless! - not frozen seas More motionless! and then What joy awaits you, when the breeze Hath found you out among the trees, And calls you forth again!
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Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves Of their bad influence, and their good receives.
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From the body of one guilty deed a thousand ghostly fears and haunting thoughts proceed.
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Books are the best type of the influence of the past.
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Open-mindedness is the harvest of a quiet eye.
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The human mind is capable of excitement without the application of gross and violent stimulants and he must have a very faint perception of its beauty and dignity who does not know this.
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Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns.
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The feather, whence the pen Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men, Dropped from an angel's wing.
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Ten thousand saw I at a glance, tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
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Let the moon shine on the in thy solitary walk and let the misty mountain-winds be free to blow against thee.
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The world is too much with us late and soon, getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours.
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A perfect woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light
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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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And suddenly all your troubles melt away, all your worries are gone, and it is for no reason other than the look in your partner's eyes. Yes, sometimes life and love really is that simple.
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Men who can hear the Decalogue, and feel To self-reproach.
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The harvest of a quiet eye, That broods and sleeps on his own heart.
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For nature then to me was all in all.
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