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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
Flower
Something
Primrose
Brim
Yellow
River
Rivers
Rose
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Wrongs unredressed, or insults unavenged.
William Wordsworth
A brotherhood of venerable trees.
William Wordsworth
Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
William Wordsworth
Laying out grounds... may be considered as a liberal art, in some sort like poetry and painting.... it is to assist Nature in moving the affections... the affections of those who have the deepest perception of the beauty of Nature.
William Wordsworth
Have I not reason to lament What man has made of man?
William Wordsworth
Rest and be thankful.
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Life is divided into three terms - that which was, which is, and which will be. Let us learn from the past to profit by the present, and from the present, to live better in the future.
William Wordsworth
The harvest of a quiet eye, That broods and sleeps on his own heart.
William Wordsworth
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.
William Wordsworth
Plain living and high thinking are no more.
William Wordsworth
Love betters what is best
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That mighty orb of song, The divine Milton.
William Wordsworth
Hearing often-times the still, sad music of humanity, nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power to chasten and subdue.
William Wordsworth
The sightless Milton, with his hair Around his placid temples curled And Shakespeare at his side,-a freight, If clay could think and mind were weight, For him who bore the world!
William Wordsworth
Milton, in his hand The thing became a trumpet
William Wordsworth
A babe, by intercourse of touch I held mute dialogues with my Mother's heart.
William Wordsworth
Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed Their snow-white blossoms on my head, With brightest sunshine round me spread Of spring's unclouded weather, In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard-seat! And birds and flowers once more to greet, My last year's friends together.
William Wordsworth
For all things are less dreadful than they seem.
William Wordsworth
The common growth of Mother Earth Suffices me,-her tears, her mirth, Her humblest mirth and tears.
William Wordsworth
Small service is true service, while it lasts.
William Wordsworth
