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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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Up! up! my friend, and quit your books, Or surely you 'll grow double! Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks! Why all this toil and trouble?
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Not in Utopia, -- subterranean fields, --Or some secreted island, Heaven knows whereBut in the very world, which is the worldOf all of us, -- the place where in the endWe find our happiness, or not at all
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A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free.
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Let the moon shine on the in thy solitary walk and let the misty mountain-winds be free to blow against thee.
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Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.
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We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.
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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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Before us lay a painful road, And guidance have I sought in duteous love From Wisdom's heavenly Father. Hence hath flowed Patience, with trust that, whatsoe'er the way Each takes in this high matter, all may move Cheered with the prospect of a brighter day.
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Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade Of that which once was great is passed away.
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And suddenly all your troubles melt away, all your worries are gone, and it is for no reason other than the look in your partner's eyes. Yes, sometimes life and love really is that simple.
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A genial hearth, a hospitable board, and a refined rusticity.
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And he is oft the wisest manWho is not wise at all.
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Fear is a cloak which old men huddle about their love, as if to keep it warm.
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That to this mountain-daisy's self were known The beauty of its star-shaped shadow, thrown On the smooth surface of this naked stone!
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To be young was very heaven!
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We Poets in our youth begin in gladness But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
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Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!
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Nature's old felicities.
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