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O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird, Or but a wandering voice?
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
Wander
Thee
Bird
Shall
Call
Blithe
Voice
Cuckoo
Cuckoos
Wandering
More quotes by William Wordsworth
And what if thou, sweet May, hast known Mishap by worm and blight If expectations newly blown Have perished in thy sight If loves and joys, while up they sprung, Were caught as in a snare Such is the lot of all the young, However bright and fair.
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Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry and these we adore Plain living and high thinking are no more.
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Behold the Child among his new-born blisses A six years' Darling of a pigmy size! See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, With light upon him from his father's eyes! See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, Some fragment from his dream of human life, Shaped by himself with newly-learned art.
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On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life, Musing is solitude
William Wordsworth
And now I see with eye serene, The very pulse of the machine. A being breathing thoughtful breaths, A traveler between life and death.
William Wordsworth
Shalt show us how divine a thing A woman may be made.
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True beauty dwells in deep retreats, Whose veil is unremoved Till heart with heart in concord beats, And the lover is beloved.
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We Poets in our youth begin in gladness But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
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Not in Utopia, -- subterranean fields, --Or some secreted island, Heaven knows whereBut in the very world, which is the worldOf all of us, -- the place where in the endWe find our happiness, or not at all
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He spake of love, such love as spirits feel In worlds whose course is equable and pure No fears to beat away, no strife to heal,- The past unsighed for, and the future sure.
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Love betters what is best
William Wordsworth
A Primrose by a river's brim A yellow primrose was to him And it was something more.
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What know we of the Blest above but that they sing, and that they love?
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One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can.
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Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.
William Wordsworth
How is it that you live, and what is it you do?
William Wordsworth
Father! - to God himself we cannot give a holier name.
William Wordsworth
All that we behold is full of blessings.
William Wordsworth
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 we shall find A pleasure in the dimness of the stars.
William Wordsworth
