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A cheerful life is what the Muses love. A soaring spirit is their prime delight.
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
Cheerful
Prime
Delight
Spirit
Love
Muses
Life
Soaring
Soar
Muse
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May books and nature be their early joy!
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In years that bring the philosophic mind.
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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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Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind--But how could I forget thee?
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A lawyer art thou? Draw not nigh! Go, carry to some fitter place The keenness of that practised eye, The hardness of that sallow face.
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The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink I heard a voice it said Drink, pretty creature, drink'
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A tale in everything.
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Milton, thou should'st be living at this hour.
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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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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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That blessed mood in which the burthen of the mystery, in which the heavy and the weary weight of all this unintelligible world is lightened.
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Whom neither shape of danger can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray.
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The wealthiest man among us is the best
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And when the stream Which overflowed the soul was passed away, A consciousness remained that it had left Deposited upon the silent shore Of memory images and precious thoughts That shall not die, and cannot be destroyed.
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For youthful faults ripe virtues shall atone.
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In truth the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is.
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But an old age serene and bright, and lovely as a Lapland night, shall lead thee to thy grave.
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Spade! Thou art a tool of honor in my hands. I press thee, through a yielding soil, with pride.
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A deep distress has humanised my soul.
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And mighty poets in their misery dead.
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