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The soft blue sky did never melt Into his heart he never felt The witchery of the soft blue sky!

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
Blue
Felt
Heart
Never
Witchery
Melt
Soft
Sky

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I, methought, while the sweet breath of heaven Was blowing on my body, felt within A correspondent breeze, that gently moved With quickening virtue, but is now become A tempest, a redundant energy, Vexing its own creation.
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The Poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society.
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Heaven lies about us in our infancy.
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Sweet Mercy! to the gates of heaven This minstrel lead, his sins forgiven The rueful conflict, the heart riven With vain endeavour, And memory of Earth's bitter leaven Effaced forever.
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I should dread to disfigure the beautiful ideal of the memories of illustrious persons with incongruous features, and to sully the imaginative purity of classical works with gross and trivial recollections.
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Delivered from the galling yoke of time.
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Yon foaming flood seems motionless as iceIts dizzy turbulence eludes the eye,Frozen by distance.
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The memory of the just survives in Heaven.
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The child shall become father to the man.
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Truth takes no account of centuries.
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What are fears but voices airy? Whispering harm where harm is not. And deluding the unwary Till the fatal bolt is shot!
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'Tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes!
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Milton, thou should'st be living at this hour.
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For by superior energies more strict affiance in each other faith more firm in their unhallowed principles, the bad have fairly earned a victory over the weak, the vacillating, inconsistent good.
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O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird, Or but a wandering voice?
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Books! tis a dull and endless strife: Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music! on my life, There's more of wisdom in it.
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It is the 1st mild day of March. Each minute sweeter than before... there is a blessing in the air.
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Provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke.
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My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began So is it now I am a man So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The Child is father of the Man I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.
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