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How many undervalue the power of simplicity ! But it is the real key to the 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
Power
Many
Real
Heart
Undervalue
Simplicity
Keys
Art

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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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Long as there's a sun that sets, Primroses will have their glory Long as there are violets, They will have a place in story: There's a flower that shall be mine, 'Tis the little Celandine.
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Science appears but what in truth she is, Not as our glory and our absolute boast, But as a succedaneum, and a prop To our infirmity.
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There is One great society alone on earth: The noble living and the noble dead.
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Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretch'd in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
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Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice The confidence of reason give, And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live!
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Sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart.
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The gods approve The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul.
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As high as we have mounted in delight, In our dejection do we sink as low.
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Take the sweet poetry of life away, and what remains behind?
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Then my heart with pleasure fills And dances with the daffodils.
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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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The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone
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Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
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Primroses, the Spring may love them Summer knows but little of them.
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Imagination is the means of deep insight and sympathy, the power to conceive and express images removed from normal objective reality.
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'T is hers to pluck the amaranthine flower Of faith, and round the sufferer's temples bind Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower, And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind.
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When men change swords for ledgers, and desert The student's bower for gold, some fears unnamed I had, my Country--am I to be blamed?
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With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things.
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A simple child. That lightly draws its breath. And feels its life in every limb. What should it know of death?
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