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The Rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the Rose.

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
Rose
Flower
Goes
Comes
Rainbow
Appreciation
Lovely

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For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.
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Every great and original writer, in proportion as he is great and original, must himself create the taste by which he is to be relished.
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As in the eye of Nature he has lived, So in the eye of Nature let him die!
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It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the sea: Listen! the mighty being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thundereverlastingly.
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...one interior life in which all beings live with God, themselves are God, existing in the mighty whole, indistinguishable as the cloudless east is from the cloudless west, when all the hemisphere is one cerulean blue.
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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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Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.
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Those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realised, High instincts before which our mortal Nature Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised
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[Mathematics] is an independent world created out of pure intelligence.
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Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower.
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Imagination is the means of deep insight and sympathy, the power to conceive and express images removed from normal objective reality.
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A youth to whom was given So much of earth, so much of heaven.
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Come forth into the light of things, let nature be your teacher.
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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 impulse from a vernal wood
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The tears into his eyes were brought, And thanks and praises seemed to run So fast out of his heart, I thought They never would have done. -I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds With coldness still returning Alas! the gratitude of men Hath oftener left me mourning.
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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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What is pride? A rocket that emulates the stars.
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Stern daughter of the voice of God! O Duty! if that name thou love Who art a light to guide, a rod To check the erring and reprove.
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Small service is true service, while it lasts.
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