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Laying out grounds may be considered a liberal art, in some sort like poetry and painting.
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
Garden
Poetry
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Laying
Painting
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More quotes by William Wordsworth
A youth to whom was given So much of earth, so much of heaven.
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one daffodil is worth a thousand pleasures, then one is too few.
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Let beeves and home-bred kine partake The sweets of Burn-mill meadow The swan on still St. Mary's Lake Float double, swan and shadow!
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Like an army defeated The snow hath retreated, And now doth fare ill On the top of the bare hill The Ploughboy is whooping — anon — anon! There's joy in the mountains: There's life in the fountains Small clouds are sailing, Blue sky prevailing The rain is over and gone.
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The memory of the just survives in Heaven.
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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.
William Wordsworth
The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.
William Wordsworth
I am already kindly disposed towards you. My friendship it is not in my power to give: this is a gift which no man can make, it is not in our own power: a sound and healthy friendship is the growth of time and circumstance, it will spring up and thrive like a wildflower when these favour, and when they do not, it is in vain to look for it.
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Like thoughts whose very sweetness yielded proof that they were born for immortality.
William Wordsworth
Books are the best type of the influence of the past.
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Great God! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn
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I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, wherever nature led.
William Wordsworth
my brain Worked with a dim and undetermined sense Of unknown modes of being o'er my thoughts There hung a darkness, call it solitude Or blank desertion.
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For mightier far Than strength of nerve or sinew, or the sway Of magic potent over sun and star, Is love, though oft to agony distrest, And though his favourite be feeble woman's breast.
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A brotherhood of venerable trees.
William Wordsworth
Sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart.
William Wordsworth
And the most difficult of tasks to keep Heights which the soul is competent to gain.
William Wordsworth
Be mild, and cleave to gentle things, thy glory and thy happiness be there.
William Wordsworth
Great men have been among us hands that penn'd And tongues that utter'd wisdom--better none
William Wordsworth
Scorn not the sonnet. Critic, you have frowned, Mindless of its just honours with this key Shakespeare unlocked his heart.
William Wordsworth
