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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.

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
Deep
Removed
Imagination
Objective
Means
Sympathy
Reality
Objectives
Power
Images
Mean
Insight
Express
Normal
Conceive

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For nature then to me was all in all.
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When from our better selves we have too long been parted by the hurrying world, and droop. Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, how gracious, how benign is solitude.
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'Tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes!
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Nor less I deem that there are Powers Which of themselves our minds impress That we can feed this mind of ours In a wise passiveness
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That kill the bloom before its time, And blanch, without the owner's crime, The most resplendent hair.
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And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love.
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Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close upon the growing boy.
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But to a higher mark than song can reach, Rose this pure eloquence.
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Open-mindedness is the harvest of a quiet eye.
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Choice word and measured phrase above the reach Of ordinary men.
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The clouds that gather round the setting sun, Do take a sober colouring from an eye, That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality.
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Poetry is most just to its divine origin, when it administers the comforts and breathes the thoughts of religion.
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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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He murmurs near the running brooks A music sweeter than their own.
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Oh, blank confusion! true epitome Of what the mighty City is herself, To thousands upon thousands of her sons, Living amid the same perpetual whirl Of trivial objects, melted and reduced To one identity.
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My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began So is it now I am a man.
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Sweet is the lore which Nature brings Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things: We murder to dissect.
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For youthful faults ripe virtues shall atone.
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Now when the primrose makes a splendid show, And lilies face the March-winds in full blow, And humbler growths as moved with one desire Put on, to welcome spring, their best attire, Poor Robin is yet flowerless but how gay With his red stalks upon this sunny day!
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And suddenly all your troubles melt away, all your worries are gone, and it is for no reason other than the look in your partner's eyes. Yes, sometimes life and love really is that simple.
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