Quote

Me this uncharted freedom tires I feel the weight of chance desires, My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose that ever is the same.

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
Feel
Duty
Tires
Must
Name
Uncharted
Feels
Names
Repose
Long
Chance
Tire
Freedom
Hopes
Desire
Desires
Change
Obligation
Ever
Weight

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By happy chance we saw A twofold image: on a grassy bank A snow-white ram, and in the crystal flood Another and the same!
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Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.
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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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And through the heat of conflict keeps the law In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw.
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My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.
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Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
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As generations come and go, Their arts, their customs, ebb and flow Fate, fortune, sweep strong powers away, And feeble, of themselves, decay.
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In years that bring the philosophic mind.
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That best portion of a man's life, his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.
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There is creation in the eye.
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I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, wherever nature led.
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How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold.
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The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration.
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Come grow old with me. The best is yet to be.
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To be young was very heaven!
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Babylon, Learned and wise, hath perished utterly, Nor leaves her speech one word to aid the sigh That would lament her.
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Pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.
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But who is innocent? By grace divine, Not otherwise,O Nature! we are thine.
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Nor less I deem that there are Powers Which of themselves our minds impress That we can feed this mind of ours In a wise passiveness
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For all things are less dreadful than they seem.
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