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Up! up! my friend, and quit your books, Or surely you 'll grow double! Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks! Why all this toil and trouble?

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
Clear
Quitting
Book
Surely
Looks
Friendship
Friend
Grow
Trouble
Toil
Grows
Double
Books
Quit

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He who feels contempt for any living thing hath faculties that he hath never used, and thought with him is in its infancy.
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In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay Tribute to ease and, of its joy secure, The heart luxuriates with indifferent things, Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones, And on the vacant air.
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Plain living and high thinking are no more. The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone our peace, our fearful innocence, And pure religion breathing household laws.
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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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How fast has brother followed brother, From sunshine to the sunless land!
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Provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke.
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One solace yet remains for us who came Into this world in days when story lacked Severe research, that in our hearts we know How, for exciting youth's heroic flame, Assent is power, belief the soul of fact.
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Earth helped him with the cry of blood.
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In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind.
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The daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.
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A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free.
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May books and nature be their early joy!
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Habit rules the unreflecting herd.
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A perfect woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light
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Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee! . . . . . . Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart: So didst thou travel on life's common way In cheerful godliness.
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Earth has not anything to show more fair.
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That though the radiance which was once so bright be now forever taken from my sight. Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, glory in the flower. We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.
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