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Miss not the occasion by the forelock take that subtle power, the never-halting time.
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
Subtle
Miss
Missing
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Power
Forelock
Take
Halting
Never
Occasion
Time
Occasions
More quotes by William Wordsworth
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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Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice The confidence of reason give, And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live!
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The child is father of the man.
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And when the stream Which overflowed the soul was passed away, A consciousness remained that it had left Deposited upon the silent shore Of memory images and precious thoughts That shall not die, and cannot be destroyed.
William Wordsworth
Wrongs unredressed, or insults unavenged.
William Wordsworth
His love was like the liberal air, embracing all, to cheer and bless.
William Wordsworth
Earth helped him with the cry of blood.
William Wordsworth
Then my heart with pleasure fills And dances with the daffodils.
William Wordsworth
To the solid ground Of nature trusts the Mind that builds for aye.
William Wordsworth
And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man.
William Wordsworth
The oldest man he seemed that ever wore grey hairs.
William Wordsworth
The intellectual power, through words and things, Went sounding on a dim and perilous way!
William Wordsworth
But who shall parcel out His intellect by geometric rules, Split like a province into round and square?
William Wordsworth
And what if thou, sweet May, hast known Mishap by worm and blight If expectations newly blown Have perished in thy sight If loves and joys, while up they sprung, Were caught as in a snare Such is the lot of all the young, However bright and fair.
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The wind, a sightless laborer, whistles at his task.
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Mark the babe not long accustomed to this breathing world One that hath barely learned to shape a smile, though yet irrational of soul, to grasp with tiny finger - to let fall a tear And, as the heavy cloud of sleep dissolves, To stretch his limbs, becoming, as might seem. The outward functions of intelligent man.
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There's something in a flying horse, There's something in a huge balloon.
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Small service is true service, while it lasts.
William Wordsworth
Delivered from the galling yoke of time.
William Wordsworth
True dignity abides with him alone Who, in the silent hour of inward thought, Can still suspect, and still revere himself, In lowliness of heart.
William Wordsworth
