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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
Real
Heart
Undervalue
Simplicity
Keys
Art
Power
Many

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For nature then to me was all in all.
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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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Yon foaming flood seems motionless as iceIts dizzy turbulence eludes the eye,Frozen by distance.
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Come grow old with me. The best is yet to be.
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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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Nature's old felicities.
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No motion has she now, no force she neither hears nor sees rolled around in earth's diurnal course, with rocks, and stones, and trees.
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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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He murmurs near the running brooks A music sweeter than their own.
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The world is too much with us late and soon, getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours.
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The earth was all before me. With a heart Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty, I look about and should the chosen guide Be nothing better than a wandering cloud, I cannot miss my way.
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Faith is a passionate intuition.
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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting. Not in entire forgetfulness, and not in utter nakedness, but trailing clouds of glory do we come.
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'Tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes!
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That though the radiance which was once so bright be now forever taken from my sight. Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, glory in the flower. We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.
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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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The wealthiest man among us is the best
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Bright gem instinct with music, vocal spark.
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Every gift of noble origin Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath.
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Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.
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