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A brotherhood of venerable trees.

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
Venerable
Brotherhood
Trees
Brother
Tree

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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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Either still I find Some imperfection in the chosen theme, Or see of absolute accomplishment Much wanting, so much wanting, in myself, That I recoil and droop, and seek repose In listlessness from vain perplexity, Unprofitably travelling towards the grave.
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Delivered from the galling yoke of time.
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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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Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge it is the impassioned expression which is in the countenance of all Science
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We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, When such are wanted.
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Since every mortal power of Coleridge Was frozen at its marvellous source, The rapt one, of the godlike forehead, The heaven-eyed creature sleeps in earth: And Lamb, the frolic and the gentle, Has vanished from his lonely hearth.
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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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By happy chance we saw A twofold image: on a grassy bank A snow-white ram, and in the crystal flood Another and the same!
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The wealthiest man among us is the best
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She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be But she is in her grave, and oh The difference to me!
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A few strong instincts and a few plain rules.
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The feather, whence the pen Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men, Dropped from an angel's wing.
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My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.
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Heaven lies about us in our infancy.
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Dreams, books, are each a world and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good: Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow.
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We must be free or die, who speak the tongue That Shakespeare spake the faith and morals hold Which Milton held.
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A lawyer art thou? Draw not nigh! Go, carry to some fitter place The keenness of that practised eye, The hardness of that sallow face.
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A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by One after one the sound of rain, and bees Murmuring the fall of rivers, winds and seas, Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky - I've thought of all by turns, and still I lie Sleepless.
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A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard... Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.
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