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We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.
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
Grief
Splendour
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Grieve
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Take the sweet poetry of life away, and what remains behind?
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Small service is true service, while it lasts.
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one daffodil is worth a thousand pleasures, then one is too few.
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True dignity abides with him alone Who, in the silent hour of inward thought, Can still suspect, and still revere himself, In lowliness of heart.
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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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Those old credulities, to Nature dear, Shall they no longer bloom upon the stock Of history?
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Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge it is the impassioned expression which is in the countenance of all Science
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A multitude of causes unknown to former times are now acting with a combined force to blunt the discriminating powers of the mind, and unfitting it for all voluntary exertion to reduce it to a state of almost savage torpor.
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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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On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life, Musing is solitude
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The education of circumstances is superior to that of tuition.
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Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither.
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The monumental pomp of age Was with this goodly personage A stature undepressed in size, Unbent, which rather seemed to rise In open victory o'er the weight Of seventy years, to loftier height.
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Dust as we are, the immortal spirit grows Like harmony in music there is a dark Inscrutable workmanship that reconciles Discordant elements, makes them cling together In one society.
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Open-mindedness is the harvest of a quiet eye.
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Golf is a day spent in a round of strenuous idleness.
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When men change swords for ledgers, and desert The student's bower for gold, some fears unnamed I had, my Country--am I to be blamed?
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Death is the quiet haven of us all.
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What we have loved Others will love And we will teach them how.
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A cheerful life is what the Muses love. A soaring spirit is their prime delight.
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