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Scorn not the sonnet. Critic, you have frowned, Mindless of its just honours with this key Shakespeare unlocked his heart.
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
Scorn
Critic
Shakespeare
Honour
Unlocked
Critics
Honours
Keys
Frowned
Justice
Sonnet
Heart
Mindless
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.
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That inward eye/ Which is the bliss of solitude.
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We live by admiration, hope and love.
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Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
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Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower, We feel that we are greater than we know.
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Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed Their snow-white blossoms on my head, With brightest sunshine round me spread Of spring's unclouded weather, In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard-seat! And birds and flowers once more to greet, My last year's friends together.
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I travelled among unknown men, In lands beyond the sea Nor England! did I know till then What love I bore to thee.
William Wordsworth
Let beeves and home-bred kine partake The sweets of Burn-mill meadow The swan on still St. Mary's Lake Float double, swan and shadow!
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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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Nor less I deem that there are Powers Which of themselves our minds impress That we can feed this mind of ours In a wise passiveness
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The Eagle, he was lord above
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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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Men who can hear the Decalogue, and feel To self-reproach.
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In truth the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is.
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Even thus last night, and two nights more I lay, And could not win thee, Sleep, by any stealth: So do not let me wear to-night away. Without thee what is all the morning's wealth? Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
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A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable.
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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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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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Delivered from the galling yoke of time.
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