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The fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world Have hung upon the beatings of my 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
Unprofitable
Stir
Fever
Hung
Upon
Heart
World
Fretful
Beatings
More quotes by William Wordsworth
in the mind of man, A motion and a spirit, that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things.
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Chains tie us down by land and sea And wishes, vain as mine, may be All that is left to comfort thee.
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As high as we have mounted in delight, In our dejection do we sink as low.
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Great God! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn
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When his veering gait And every motion of his starry train Seem governed by a strain Of music, audible to him alone.
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The human mind is capable of excitement without the application of gross and violent stimulants and he must have a very faint perception of its beauty and dignity who does not know this.
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I'm not talking about a show me other walls of this thing button, I mean a stumble button for wallbase.
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The sightless Milton, with his hair Around his placid temples curled And Shakespeare at his side,-a freight, If clay could think and mind were weight, For him who bore the world!
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That inward eye/ Which is the bliss of solitude.
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Yet sometimes, when the secret cup Of still and serious thought went round, It seemed as if he drank it up, He felt with spirit so profound.
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A Primrose by a river's brim A yellow primrose was to him And it was something more.
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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar.
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The primal duties shine aloft, like stars The charities that soothe, and heal, and bless, Are scattered at the feet of Man, like flowers.
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One of those heavenly days that cannot die.
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A man he seems of cheerful yesterdays And confident tomorrows.
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On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life, Musing in solitude, I oft perceive Fair trains of images before me rise, Accompanied by feelings of delight Pure, or with no unpleasing sadness mixed.
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Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers.
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A youth to whom was given So much of earth, so much of heaven.
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Huge and mighty forms that do not live like living men, moved slowly through the mind by day and were trouble to my dreams.
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This City now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie Open unto the fields and to the sky All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
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