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She gave me eyes, she gave me ears And humble cares, and delicate fears A heart, the fountain of sweet tears And love and thought and joy.
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
Joy
Delicate
Eyes
Fears
Eye
Caring
Thought
Humble
Care
Ears
Heart
Gave
Love
Tears
Fountain
Sweet
Cares
More quotes by William Wordsworth
A man he seems of cheerful yesterdays And confident tomorrows.
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Habit rules the unreflecting herd.
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Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While 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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Pictures deface walls more often than they decorate them.
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Because the good old rule Sufficeth them,-the simple plan, That they should take who have the power, And they should keep who can.
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The silence that is in the starry sky, / The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
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The child is father of the man: And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.
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The memory of the just survives in Heaven.
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In years that bring the philosophic mind.
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A youth to whom was given So much of earth, so much of heaven.
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my brain Worked with a dim and undetermined sense Of unknown modes of being o'er my thoughts There hung a darkness, call it solitude Or blank desertion.
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That blessed mood in which the burthen of the mystery, in which the heavy and the weary weight of all this unintelligible world is lightened.
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Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies, Let them live upon their praises.
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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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Truths that wake To perish never
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Imagination, which in truth Is but another name for absolute power And clearest insight, amplitude of mind, And reason, in her most exalted mood.
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The tears into his eyes were brought, And thanks and praises seemed to run So fast out of his heart, I thought They never would have done. -I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds With coldness still returning Alas! the gratitude of men Hath oftener left me mourning.
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Thou unassuming common-place of Nature, with that homely face.
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Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers.
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Scorn not the sonnet. Critic, you have frowned, Mindless of its just honours with this key Shakespeare unlocked his heart.
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