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The vision and the faculty divine Yet wanting the accomplishment of verse.

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
Divine
Vision
Verse
Verses
Divinity
Faculty
Accomplishment
Wanting

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For youthful faults ripe virtues shall atone.
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But trailing clouds of glory do we come, From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy!.
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The child shall become father to the man.
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On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life, Musing in solitude, I oft perceive Fair trains of images before me rise, Accompanied by feelings of delight Pure, or with no unpleasing sadness mixed.
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... and we shall find A pleasure in the dimness of the stars.
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Elysian beauty, melancholy grace, Brought from a pensive though a happy place.
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Memories... images and precious thoughts that shall not die and cannot be destroyed.
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The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone
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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!
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Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And, even with something of a mother's mind, And no unworthy aim, The homely nurse doth all she can To make her foster child, her inmate man, Forget the glories he hath known And that imperial palace whence he came.
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Whom neither shape of danger can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray.
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Take the sweet poetry of life away, and what remains behind?
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Since thy return, through days and weeks Of hope that grew by stealth, How many wan and faded cheeks Have kindled into health! The Old, by thee revived, have said, 'Another year is ours' And wayworn Wanderers, poorly fed, Have smiled upon thy flowers.
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A babe, by intercourse of touch I held mute dialogues with my Mother's heart.
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Truths that wake To perish never
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To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
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A tale in everything.
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Sweet childish days, that were as long, As twenty days are now.
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Poetry is emotion recollected in tranquillity.
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The sunshine is a glorious birth But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.
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