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Heaven lies about us in our infancy.

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
Lies
Baby
Heaven
Lying
Eulogy
Infancy

More quotes by William Wordsworth

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Come forth into the light of things, let nature be your teacher.
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Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves Of their bad influence, and their good receives.
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Oft in my way have I stood still, though but a casual passenger, so much I felt the awfulness of life.
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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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Provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke.
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Everything is tedious when one does not read with the feeling of the Author.
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Sweetest melodies.Are those that are by distance made more sweet.
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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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Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee! . . . . . . Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart: So didst thou travel on life's common way In cheerful godliness.
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We murder to dissect.
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... and we shall find A pleasure in the dimness of the stars.
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'T is hers to pluck the amaranthine flower Of faith, and round the sufferer's temples bind Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower, And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind.
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His love was like the liberal air, embracing all, to cheer and bless.
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Since every mortal power of Coleridge Was frozen at its marvellous source, The rapt one, of the godlike forehead, The heaven-eyed creature sleeps in earth: And Lamb, the frolic and the gentle, Has vanished from his lonely hearth.
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My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began So is it now I am a man.
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Bright was the summer's noon when quickening steps Followed each other till a dreary moor Was crossed, a bare ridge clomb, upon whose top Standing alone, as from a rampart's edge, I overlooked the bed of Windermere, Like a vast river, stretching in the sun.
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Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky! Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound? Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground?
William Wordsworth
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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.
William Wordsworth
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And through the heat of conflict keeps the law In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw.
William Wordsworth
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Books are yours, Within whose silent chambers treasure lies Preserved from age to age more precious far Than that accumulated store of gold And orient gems, which, for a day of need, The Sultan hides deep in ancestral tombs. These hoards of truth you can unlock at will.
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