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One that would peep and botanize Upon his mother's grave.

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
Grave
Graves
Upon
Mother
Would
Peep
Motherhood

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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting.
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We murder to dissect.
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And now I see with eye serene, The very pulse of the machine. A being breathing thoughtful breaths, A traveler between life and death.
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Careless of books, yet having felt the power Of Nature, by the gentle agency Of natural objects, led me on to feel For passions that were not my own, and think (At random and imperfectly indeed) On man, the heart of man, and human life.
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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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Even thus last night, and two nights more I lay, And could not win thee, Sleep, by any stealth: So do not let me wear to-night away. Without thee what is all the morning's wealth? Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
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His love was like the liberal air, embracing all, to cheer and bless.
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Take the sweet poetry of life away, and what remains behind?
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The mysteries that cups of flowers infold And all the gorgeous sights which fairies do behold.
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Faith is, necessary to explain anything, and to reconcile the foreknowledge of God with human evil.
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To character and success, two things, contradictory as they may seem, must go together... humble dependence on God and manly reliance on self.
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The clouds that gather round the setting sun, Do take a sober colouring from an eye, That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality.
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Let the moon shine on the in thy solitary walk and let the misty mountain-winds be free to blow against thee.
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Dreams, books, are each a world and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good: Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow.
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I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts a sense sublime of something far more deeply interfused, whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, and the round ocean, and the living air, and the blue sky, and in the mind of man.
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'Tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes!
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A babe, by intercourse of touch I held mute dialogues with my Mother's heart.
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Choice word and measured phrase above the reach Of ordinary men.
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The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, burn to the socket.
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But who shall parcel out His intellect by geometric rules, Split like a province into round and square?
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