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To the solid ground Of nature trusts the Mind that builds for aye.

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
Solid
Ground
Natural
Science
Nature
Mind
Trusts
Builds

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Be mild, and cleave to gentle things, thy glory and thy happiness be there.
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Science appears but what in truth she is, Not as our glory and our absolute boast, But as a succedaneum, and a prop To our infirmity.
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A tale in everything.
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Plain living and high thinking are no more.
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Whether we be young or old,Our destiny, our being's heart and home,Is with infinitude, and only thereWith hope it is, hope that can never die,Effort and expectation, and desire,And something evermore about to be.
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Meek Walton's heavenly memory.
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Where the statue stood Of Newton, with his prism and silent face, The marble index of a mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of thought alone.
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Come grow old with me. The best is yet to be.
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Scorn not the sonnet. Critic, you have frowned, Mindless of its just honours with this key Shakespeare unlocked his heart.
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The child shall become father to the man.
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The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, That no philosophy can lift.
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His love was like the liberal air, embracing all, to cheer and bless.
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But trailing clouds of glory do we come, From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy!.
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Sweet childish days, that were as long, As twenty days are now.
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Truths that wake To perish never
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The Rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the Rose.
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Therefore am I still a lover of the meadows and the woods, and mountains and of all that we behold from this green earth.
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In truth the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is.
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Our meddling intellect Misshapes the beauteous forms of things We murder to dissect
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Everything is tedious when one does not read with the feeling of the Author.
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