Quote

Even thus last night, and two nights more I lay, And could not win thee, Sleep, by any stealth: So do not let me wear to-night away. Without thee what is all the morning's wealth? Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!

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
Without
Lasts
Wear
Joyous
Even
Last
Blessed
Nights
Away
Thoughts
Barriers
Mother
Health
Fresh
Night
Wealth
Lays
Two
Sleep
Thee
Dream
Morning
Thus
Stealth
Come
Winning
Dear
Barrier

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As high as we have mounted in delight, In our dejection do we sink as low.
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In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind.
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Stay, little cheerful Robin! stay, And at my casement sing, Though it should prove a farewell lay And this our parting spring. * * * * * Then, little Bird, this boon confer, Come, and my requiem sing, Nor fail to be the harbinger Of everlasting spring.
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This solitary Tree! a living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay Of form and aspect too magnificent To be destroyed.
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Minds that have nothing to confer Find little to perceive.
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Happier of happy though I be, like them I cannot take possession of the sky, mount with a thoughtless impulse, and wheel there, one of a mighty multitude whose way and motion is a harmony and dance magnificent.
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A few strong instincts and a few plain rules.
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I look for ghosts but none will force Their way to me. 'Tis falsely said That there was ever intercourse Between the living and the dead.
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And through the heat of conflict keeps the law In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw.
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Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.
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O Reader! had you in your mind Such stores as silent thought can bring, O gentle Reader! you would find A tale in everything.
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The sunshine is a glorious birth But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.
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My apprehension comes in crowds, I dread the rustling of the grass, The very shadows of the clouds, Have power to shake me as they pass, I question things and do not find, one that will answer to my mind, And all the world appears unkind.
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The wind, a sightless laborer, whistles at his task.
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A genial hearth, a hospitable board, and a refined rusticity.
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Strongest minds are often those whom the noisy world hears least.
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A great poet ought to a certain degree to rectify men's feelings... to render their feelings more sane, pure and permanent, in short, more consonant to Nature.
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Hope smiled when your nativity was cast, Children of Summer!
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Pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.
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