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Truths that wake To perish never

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
Truths
Wake
Divine
Never
Perish

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And homeless near a thousand homes I stood, And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.
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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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Society became my glittering bride, And airy hopes my children.
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To the solid ground Of nature trusts the Mind that builds for aye.
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Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
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Huge and mighty forms that do not live like living men, moved slowly through the mind by day and were trouble to my dreams.
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Tis not in battles that from youth we train The Governor who must be wise and good, And temper with the sternness of the brain Thoughts motherly, and meek as womanhood.
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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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When from our better selves we have too long been parted by the hurrying world, and droop. Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, how gracious, how benign is solitude.
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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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To be a Prodigal's favourite,-then, worse truth, A Miser's pensioner,-behold our lot!
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The education of circumstances is superior to that of tuition.
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Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.
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Up! up! my friend, and quit your books, Or surely you 'll grow double! Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks! Why all this toil and trouble?
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Great God! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn
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Me this uncharted freedom tires I feel the weight of chance desires, My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose that ever is the same.
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The first cuckoo's melancholy cry.
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in the mind of man, A motion and a spirit, that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things.
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The earth was all before me. With a heart Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty, I look about and should the chosen guide Be nothing better than a wandering cloud, I cannot miss my way.
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We must be free or die, who speak the tongue That Shakespeare spake the faith and morals hold Which Milton held.
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