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Hearing often-times the still, sad music of humanity, nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power to chasten and subdue.
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
Still
Harsh
Music
Hearing
Humans
Humanity
Though
Times
Chasten
Often
Grating
Stills
Subdue
Power
Ample
More quotes by William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills When all at once I saw a crowd A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake beneath the trees Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
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The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration.
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Everything is tedious when one does not read with the feeling of the Author.
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That mighty orb of song, The divine Milton.
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Enough, if something from our hands have power To live, and act, and serve the future hour And if, as toward the silent tomb we go, Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower, We feel that we are greater than we know.
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And the most difficult of tasks to keep Heights which the soul is competent to gain.
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Wisdom and spirit of the Universe!
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Departing summer hath assumed An aspect tenderly illumed, The gentlest look of spring That calls from yonder leafy shade Unfaded, yet prepared to fade, A timely carolling.
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The silence that is in the starry sky, / The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
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Society became my glittering bride, And airy hopes my children.
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O Reader! had you in your mind Such stores as silent thought can bring, O gentle Reader! you would find A tale in everything.
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Take the sweet poetry of life away, and what remains behind?
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Type of the wise who soar but never roam, True to the kindred points of heaven and home.
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Science appears but what in truth she is, Not as our glory and our absolute boast, But as a succedaneum, and a prop To our infirmity.
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O dearer far than light and life are dear.
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As high as we have mounted in delight, In our dejection do we sink as low.
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Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
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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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The tears into his eyes were brought, And thanks and praises seemed to run So fast out of his heart, I thought They never would have done. -I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds With coldness still returning Alas! the gratitude of men Hath oftener left me mourning.
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We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, When such are wanted.
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