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In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard seat And birds and flowers once more to greet. . . .

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
Flowers
Fruit
Sequestered
Bird
Nook
Flower
Greet
Sweet
Orchard
Upon
Seat
Seats
Birds

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In years that bring the philosophic mind.
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I am already kindly disposed towards you. My friendship it is not in my power to give: this is a gift which no man can make, it is not in our own power: a sound and healthy friendship is the growth of time and circumstance, it will spring up and thrive like a wildflower when these favour, and when they do not, it is in vain to look for it.
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Look at the fate of summer flowers, which blow at daybreak, droop ere even-song.
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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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That kill the bloom before its time, And blanch, without the owner's crime, The most resplendent hair.
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Thought and theory must precede all action, that moves to salutary purposes. Yet action is nobler in itself than either thought or theory.
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All that we behold is full of blessings.
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In truth the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is.
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Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none / Look up a second time, and, one by one, / You mark them twinkling out with silvery light, / And wonder how they could elude the sight!
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Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters.
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I've watched you now a full half-hour Self-poised upon that yellow flower And, little Butterfly! Indeed I know not if you sleep or feed. How motionless! - not frozen seas More motionless! and then What joy awaits you, when the breeze Hath found you out among the trees, And calls you forth again!
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Not Chaos, not the darkest pit of lowest Erebus, nor aught of blinder vacancy, scooped out by help of dreams - can breed such fear and awe as fall upon us often when we look into our Minds, into the Mind of Man.
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The first cuckoo's melancholy cry.
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Everything is tedious when one does not read with the feeling of the Author.
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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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Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice The confidence of reason give, And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live!
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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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The flower that smells the sweetest is shy and lowly.
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The Poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society.
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Sweetest melodies.Are those that are by distance made more sweet.
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