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One in whom persuasion and belief Had ripened into faith, and faith become A passionate intuition.

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
Intuition
Passionate
Divine
Belief
Faith
Become
Ripened
Persuasion

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But He is risen, a later star of dawn.
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Turning, for them who pass, the common dust Of servile opportunity to gold.
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Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none / Look up a second time, and, one by one, / You mark them twinkling out with silvery light, / And wonder how they could elude the sight!
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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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Two voices are there one is of the sea, One of the mountains: each a mighty Voice.
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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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Or shipwrecked, kindles on the coast False fires, that others may be lost.
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Write to me frequently & the longest letters possible never mind whether you have facts or no to communicate fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
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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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Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!
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I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, wherever nature led.
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Provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke.
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Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.
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Poetry is most just to its divine origin, when it administers the comforts and breathes the thoughts of religion.
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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting.
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Burn all the statutes and their shelves: They stir us up against our kind And worse, against ourselves.
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Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.
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Father! - to God himself we cannot give a holier name.
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Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters.
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The very flowers are sacred to the poor.
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