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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
Passionate
Divine
Belief
Faith
Become
Ripened
Persuasion
Intuition

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A deep distress has humanised my soul.
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Truths that wake To perish never
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A simple child. That lightly draws its breath. And feels its life in every limb. What should it know of death?
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Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns.
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The silence that is in the starry sky, / The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
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Earth helped him with the cry of blood.
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I'm not talking about a show me other walls of this thing button, I mean a stumble button for wallbase.
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The sightless Milton, with his hair Around his placid temples curled And Shakespeare at his side,-a freight, If clay could think and mind were weight, For him who bore the world!
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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting.
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The streams with softest sound are flowing, The grass you almost hear it growing, You hear it now, if e'er you can.
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Free as a bird to settle where I will.
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We murder to dissect.
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Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence.
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my brain Worked with a dim and undetermined sense Of unknown modes of being o'er my thoughts There hung a darkness, call it solitude Or blank desertion.
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Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour Have passed away less happy than the one That by the unwilling ploughshare died to prove The tender charm of poetry and love.
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Prompt to move but firm to wait - knowing things rashly sought are rarely found.
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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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I should dread to disfigure the beautiful ideal of the memories of illustrious persons with incongruous features, and to sully the imaginative purity of classical works with gross and trivial recollections.
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The memory of the just survives in Heaven.
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Laying out grounds... may be considered as a liberal art, in some sort like poetry and painting.... it is to assist Nature in moving the affections... the affections of those who have the deepest perception of the beauty of Nature.
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