Quote

Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.

William Wordsworth

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

William Wordsworth
Age: 80 †
Born: 1770
Born: April 7
Died: 1850
Died: April 23
Lyricist
Poet
Cockermouth
Cumbria
Wordsworth
Blend
Sorrow
Pride
Pleasure
Feels
Thing
Never
Meanest

More quotes by William Wordsworth

Image
All that we behold is full of blessings.
William Wordsworth
Image
By happy chance we saw A twofold image: on a grassy bank A snow-white ram, and in the crystal flood Another and the same!
William Wordsworth
Image
Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
William Wordsworth
Image
Knowledge and increase of enduring joy From the great Nature that exists in works Of mighty Poets.
William Wordsworth
Image
Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence.
William Wordsworth
Image
The daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.
William Wordsworth
Image
I listened, motionless and still And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.
William Wordsworth
Image
Society became my glittering bride, And airy hopes my children.
William Wordsworth
Image
Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close upon the growing boy.
William Wordsworth
Image
Every gift of noble origin Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath.
William Wordsworth
Image
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.
William Wordsworth
Image
Laying out grounds may be considered a liberal art, in some sort like poetry and painting.
William Wordsworth
Image
This solitary Tree! a living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay Of form and aspect too magnificent To be destroyed.
William Wordsworth
Image
She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love.
William Wordsworth
Image
To be young was very heaven!
William Wordsworth
Image
Ten thousand saw I at a glance, tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
William Wordsworth
Image
Sweet childish days, that were as long, As twenty days are now.
William Wordsworth
Image
Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit, and play with similes, Loose type of things through all degrees.
William Wordsworth
Image
Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.
William Wordsworth
Image
Meek Nature's evening comment on the shows That for oblivion take their daily birth From all the fuming vanities of earth.
William Wordsworth