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A Primrose by a river's brim A yellow primrose was to him And it was something more.

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
Something
Primrose
Brim
Yellow
River
Rivers
Rose
Flower

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Often have I sighed to measure By myself a lonely pleasure,- Sighed to think I read a book, Only read, perhaps, by me.
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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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To be young was very heaven!
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A brotherhood of venerable trees.
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Far from the world I walk, and from all care.
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Sad fancies do we then affect, In luxury of disrespect To our own prodigal excess Of too familiar happiness.
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I, methought, while the sweet breath of heaven Was blowing on my body, felt within A correspondent breeze, that gently moved With quickening virtue, but is now become A tempest, a redundant energy, Vexing its own creation.
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O Reader! had you in your mind Such stores as silent thought can bring, O gentle Reader! you would find A tale in everything.
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There is a luxury in self-dispraise And inward self-disparagement affords To meditative spleen a grateful feast.
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We have within ourselves Enough to fill the present day with joy, And overspread the future years with hope.
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A light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove.
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I listened, motionless and still And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.
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In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay Tribute to ease and, of its joy secure, The heart luxuriates with indifferent things, Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones, And on the vacant air.
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Oh, blank confusion! true epitome Of what the mighty City is herself, To thousands upon thousands of her sons, Living amid the same perpetual whirl Of trivial objects, melted and reduced To one identity.
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Meek Nature's evening comment on the shows That for oblivion take their daily birth From all the fuming vanities of earth.
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Wisdom and spirit of the Universe!
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As thou these ashes, little brook, wilt bear Into the Avon, Avon to the tide Of Severn, Severn to the narrow seas, Into main ocean they, this deed accursed An emblem yields to friends and enemies How the bold teacher's doctrine, sanctified By truth, shall spread, throughout the world dispersed.
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Earth helped him with the cry of blood.
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Great God! I'd rather be a Pagan.
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The unconquerable pang of despised love.
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