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The daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.
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
Protect
Daisy
Daisies
Lingering
Protects
Casts
Kindness
Shadow
Sun
Dewdrop
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Truth takes no account of centuries.
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Oh, be wise, Thou! Instructed that true knowledge leads to love.
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When from our better selves we have too long been parted by the hurrying world, and droop. Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, how gracious, how benign is solitude.
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The common growth of Mother Earth Suffices me,-her tears, her mirth, Her humblest mirth and tears.
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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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I'll teach my boy the sweetest things I'll teach him how the owlet sings.
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Milton, thou should'st be living at this hour.
William Wordsworth
in the mind of man, A motion and a spirit, that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things.
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And when a damp Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand The thing became a trumpet whence he blew Soul-animating strains,-alas! too few.
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Now when the primrose makes a splendid show, And lilies face the March-winds in full blow, And humbler growths as moved with one desire Put on, to welcome spring, their best attire, Poor Robin is yet flowerless but how gay With his red stalks upon this sunny day!
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Wisdom sits with children round her knees.
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On a fair prospect some have looked, And felt, as I have heard them say, As if the moving time had been A thing as steadfast as the scene On which they gazed themselves away.
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The stars of midnight shall be dear To her and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face.
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A genial hearth, a hospitable board, and a refined rusticity.
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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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What is good for a bootless bene? With these dark words begins my tale And their meaning is, Whence can comfort spring When prayer is of no avail?
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One in whom persuasion and belief Had ripened into faith, and faith become A passionate intuition.
William Wordsworth
The memory of the just survives in Heaven.
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The silence that is in the starry sky, / The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
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Strongest minds are often those whom the noisy world hears least.
William Wordsworth
