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Happier of happy though I be, like them I cannot take possession of the sky, mount with a thoughtless impulse, and wheel there, one of a mighty multitude whose way and motion is a harmony and dance magnificent.

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
Happy
Wheels
Mount
Cannot
Impulse
Multitude
Take
Possession
Multitudes
Way
Harmony
Wheel
Like
Sky
Mighty
Dance
Happier
Whose
Magnificent
Though
Motion
Thoughtless

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On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life, Musing in solitude, I oft perceive Fair trains of images before me rise, Accompanied by feelings of delight Pure, or with no unpleasing sadness mixed.
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Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns.
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A mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of Thought, alone.
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There is creation in the eye.
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By all means sometimes be alone salute thyself see what thy soul doth wear dare to look in thy chest and tumble up and down what thou findest there.
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We have within ourselves Enough to fill the present day with joy, And overspread the future years with hope.
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But who shall parcel out His intellect by geometric rules, Split like a province into round and square?
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I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts a sense sublime of something far more deeply interfused, whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, and the round ocean, and the living air, and the blue sky, and in the mind of man.
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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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The first cuckoo's melancholy cry.
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Stay, little cheerful Robin! stay, And at my casement sing, Though it should prove a farewell lay And this our parting spring. * * * * * Then, little Bird, this boon confer, Come, and my requiem sing, Nor fail to be the harbinger Of everlasting spring.
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While all the future, for thy purer soul, With sober certainties of love is blest.
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This City now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie Open unto the fields and to the sky All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
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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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Let Nature be your teacher
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On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life, Musing is solitude
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Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!
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A few strong instincts and a few plain rules.
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Behold the Child among his new-born blisses A six years' Darling of a pigmy size! See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, With light upon him from his father's eyes! See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, Some fragment from his dream of human life, Shaped by himself with newly-learned art.
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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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