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The harvest of a quiet eye, That broods and sleeps on his own 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
Broods
Sleeps
Harvest
Quiet
Sleep
Eye
Heart

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The softest breeze to fairest flowers gives birth: Think not that Prudence dwells in dark abodes, She scans the future with the eye of gods.
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In truth the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is.
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The Poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society.
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Thou has left behind Powers that will work for thee,-air, earth, and skies! There 's not a breathing of the common wind That will forget thee thou hast great allies Thy friends are exultations, agonies, And love, and man's unconquerable mind.
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Every gift of noble origin Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath.
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And now I see with eye serene, The very pulse of the machine. A being breathing thoughtful breaths, A traveler between life and death.
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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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I am already kindly disposed towards you. My friendship it is not in my power to give: this is a gift which no man can make, it is not in our own power: a sound and healthy friendship is the growth of time and circumstance, it will spring up and thrive like a wildflower when these favour, and when they do not, it is in vain to look for it.
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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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The best of what we do and are, Just God, forgive!
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He loves not well whose love is bold! I would not have thee come too nigh. The sun's gold would not seem pure gold Unless the sun were in the sky: To take him thence and chain him near Would make his beauty disappear. William Winter, Love's Queen. The unconquerable pang of despised love.
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In spite of difference of soil and climate, of language and manners, of laws and customs-in spite of things silently gone out of mind, and things violently destroyed, the Poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society, as it is spread over the whole earth, and over all time.
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Society became my glittering bride, And airy hopes my children.
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A brotherhood of venerable trees.
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Milton, in his hand The thing became a trumpet
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For nature then to me was all in all.
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Oh, be wise, Thou! Instructed that true knowledge leads to love.
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Prompt to move but firm to wait - knowing things rashly sought are rarely found.
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Meek Walton's heavenly memory.
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Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.
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