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Serene will be our days, and bright and happy will our nature be, when love is an unerring light, and joy its own security.

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
Joy
Security
Days
Happy
Nature
Unerring
Light
Serene
Love
Uplifting
Bright

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Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
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Society became my glittering bride, And airy hopes my children.
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Primroses, the Spring may love them Summer knows but little of them.
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I travelled among unknown men, In lands beyond the sea Nor England! did I know till then What love I bore to thee.
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Enough, if something from our hands have power To live, and act, and serve the future hour And if, as toward the silent tomb we go, Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower, We feel that we are greater than we know.
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All that we behold is full of blessings.
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Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.
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She gave me eyes, she gave me ears And humble cares, and delicate fears A heart, the fountain of sweet tears And love and thought and joy.
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For all things are less dreadful than they seem.
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The thought of death sits easy on the man Who has been born and dies among the mountains.
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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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We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, When such are wanted.
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It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the sea: Listen! the mighty being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thundereverlastingly.
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With battlements that on their restless fronts Bore stars.
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Hope smiled when your nativity was cast, Children of Summer!
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Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies, Let them live upon their praises.
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Of all that is most beauteous, imaged there In happier beauty more pellucid streams, An ampler ether, a diviner air, And fields invested with purpureal gleams.
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Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
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We bow our heads before Thee, and we laud, And magnify thy name Almighty God! But man is thy most awful instrument, In working out a pure intent.
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