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'T is hers to pluck the amaranthine flower Of faith, and round the sufferer's temples bind Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower, And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind.

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
Rounds
Shrink
Endure
Bind
Sorrow
Shower
Keenest
Flower
Shrinks
Sufferer
Wind
Showers
Heaviest
Faith
Affliction
Wreaths
Temples
Sufferers
Round
Pluck

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We murder to dissect.
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If the time should ever come when what is now called Science, thus famliarised to men, shall be ready to put on, as it were, a form of flesh and blood, the Poet will lend his divine spirit to the aid the transfiguration, and will welcome the Being thus produced, as a dear and genuine inmate of the household of man.
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Faith is, necessary to explain anything, and to reconcile the foreknowledge of God with human evil.
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Careless of books, yet having felt the power Of Nature, by the gentle agency Of natural objects, led me on to feel For passions that were not my own, and think (At random and imperfectly indeed) On man, the heart of man, and human life.
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And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man.
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Everything is tedious when one does not read with the feeling of the Author.
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From the body of one guilty deed a thousand ghostly fears and haunting thoughts proceed.
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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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At length the man perceives it die away, And fade into the light of common day.
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There is a comfort in the strength of love 'Twill make a thing endurable, which else would overset the brain, or break the heart.
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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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Come grow old with me. The best is yet to be.
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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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Wisdom sits with children round her knees.
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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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The ocean is a mighty harmonist.
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Books are the best type of the influence of the past.
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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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Nature never did betray the heart that loved her.
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the Mind of Man-- My haunt, and the main region of my song.
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