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Pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.
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
Earth
Stray
Find
Claimed
Giving
Gifts
Whoever
Spread
Shall
Pleasure
Happiness
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Behold the Child among his new-born blisses A six years' Darling of a pigmy size! See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, With light upon him from his father's eyes! See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, Some fragment from his dream of human life, Shaped by himself with newly-learned art.
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A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard... Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.
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What is pride? A rocket that emulates the stars.
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Oh, be wise, Thou! Instructed that true knowledge leads to love.
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Memories... images and precious thoughts that shall not die and cannot be destroyed.
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He who feels contempt for any living thing hath faculties that he hath never used, and thought with him is in its infancy.
William Wordsworth
Not in Utopia, -- subterranean fields, --Or some secreted island, Heaven knows whereBut in the very world, which is the worldOf all of us, -- the place where in the endWe find our happiness, or not at all
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The ocean is a mighty harmonist.
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What know we of the Blest above but that they sing, and that they love?
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The childhood of today is the manhood of tomorrow
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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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How many undervalue the power of simplicity ! But it is the real key to the heart.
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A Primrose by a river's brim A yellow primrose was to him And it was something more.
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How fast has brother followed brother, From sunshine to the sunless land!
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For youthful faults ripe virtues shall atone.
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The eye— it cannot choose but see we cannot bid the ear be still our bodies feel, where'er they be, against or with our will.
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The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, That no philosophy can lift.
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And homeless near a thousand homes I stood, And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.
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A tale in everything.
William Wordsworth
Stay, little cheerful Robin! stay, And at my casement sing, Though it should prove a farewell lay And this our parting spring. * * * * * Then, little Bird, this boon confer, Come, and my requiem sing, Nor fail to be the harbinger Of everlasting spring.
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