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Father! - to God himself we cannot give a holier name.
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
Names
Father
Cannot
Give
Holier
Giving
Fatherhood
Daddy
Dad
Name
More quotes by William Wordsworth
But who would force the soul tilts with a straw Against a champion cased in adamant
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Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit, and play with similes, Loose type of things through all degrees.
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Elysian beauty, melancholy grace, Brought from a pensive though a happy place.
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A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
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Who, doomed to go in company with Pain And Fear and Bloodshed,-miserable train!- Turns his necessity to glorious gain.
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The monumental pomp of age Was with this goodly personage A stature undepressed in size, Unbent, which rather seemed to rise In open victory o'er the weight Of seventy years, to loftier height.
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There is One great society alone on earth: The noble living and the noble dead.
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On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life, Musing is solitude
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But hushed be every thought that springs From out the bitterness of things.
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To the solid ground Of nature trusts the Mind that builds for aye.
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Wisdom and Spirit of the universe! Thou soul, that art the eternity of thought, And giv'st to forms and images a breath And everlasting motion.
William Wordsworth
The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, An appetite a feeling and a love that had no need of a remoter charm by thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.
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For youthful faults ripe virtues shall atone.
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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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The Eagle, he was lord above
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The eye— it cannot choose but see we cannot bid the ear be still our bodies feel, where'er they be, against or with our will.
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Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
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The Poet, gentle creature as he is, Hath, like the Lover, his unruly times His fits when he is neither sick nor well, Though no distress be near him but his own Unmanageable thoughts.
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Thou unassuming common-place of Nature, with that homely face.
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Alas! how little can a moment show Of an eye where feeling plays In ten thousand dewy rays: A face o'er which a thousand shadows go!
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