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Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice The confidence of reason give, And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live!

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
Reason
Unto
Live
Confidence
Self
Sacrifice
Giving
Wise
Made
Spirit
Light
Truth
Give
Lowly

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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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Departing summer hath assumed An aspect tenderly illumed, The gentlest look of spring That calls from yonder leafy shade Unfaded, yet prepared to fade, A timely carolling.
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Wisdom married to immortal verse.
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Oh for a single hour of that Dundee Who on that day the word of onset gave!
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And when the stream Which overflowed the soul was passed away, A consciousness remained that it had left Deposited upon the silent shore Of memory images and precious thoughts That shall not die, and cannot be destroyed.
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Sweet is the lore which Nature brings Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things: We murder to dissect.
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Who, doomed to go in company with Pain And Fear and Bloodshed,-miserable train!- Turns his necessity to glorious gain.
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Worse than idle is compassion if it ends in tears and sighs.
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There is a comfort in the strength of love 'Twill make a thing endurable, which else would overset the brain, or break the heart.
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...one interior life in which all beings live with God, themselves are God, existing in the mighty whole, indistinguishable as the cloudless east is from the cloudless west, when all the hemisphere is one cerulean blue.
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Pleasures newly found are sweet When they lie about our feet.
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The budding rose above the rose full blown.
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But who, if he be called upon to face Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined Great issues, good or bad for humankind, Is happy as a lover.
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This City now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie Open unto the fields and to the sky All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
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A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable.
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Choice word and measured phrase above the reach Of ordinary men.
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Yon foaming flood seems motionless as iceIts dizzy turbulence eludes the eye,Frozen by distance.
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A great poet ought to a certain degree to rectify men's feelings... to render their feelings more sane, pure and permanent, in short, more consonant to Nature.
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[Mathematics] is an independent world created out of pure intelligence.
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In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard seat And birds and flowers once more to greet. . . .
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