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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.
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
Since
Creature
Sleeps
Heaven
Mortals
Marvellous
Coleridge
Power
Gentle
Forehead
Frolic
Earth
Loneliness
Foreheads
Rapt
Every
Lonely
Lambs
Hearth
Creatures
Eyed
Godlike
Source
Frozen
Lamb
Sleep
Mortal
Vanished
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A power is passing from the earth.
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The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.
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Chains tie us down by land and sea And wishes, vain as mine, may be All that is left to comfort thee.
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Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep/ Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind.
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One that would peep and botanize Upon his mother's grave.
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one daffodil is worth a thousand pleasures, then one is too few.
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Delivered from the galling yoke of time.
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The thought of death sits easy on the man Who has been born and dies among the mountains.
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Blessings be with them, and eternal praise, Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares!- The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays.
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Earth helped him with the cry of blood.
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The first cuckoo's melancholy cry.
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Books! tis a dull and endless strife: Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music! on my life, There's more of wisdom in it.
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Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower, The periwinkle trailed its wreaths And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes.
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Pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.
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Yet sometimes, when the secret cup Of still and serious thought went round, It seemed as if he drank it up, He felt with spirit so profound.
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Happier of happy though I be, like them I cannot take possession of the sky, mount with a thoughtless impulse, and wheel there, one of a mighty multitude whose way and motion is a harmony and dance magnificent.
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Thou unassuming common-place of Nature, with that homely face.
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Those old credulities, to Nature dear, Shall they no longer bloom upon the stock Of history?
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The primal duties shine aloft, like stars The charities that soothe, and heal, and bless, Are scattered at the feet of Man, like flowers.
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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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