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Sweet childish days, that were as long, As twenty days are now.

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
Childish
Twenty
Twenties
Management
Childhood
Sweet
Days
Long

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His love was like the liberal air, embracing all, to cheer and bless.
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But thou that didst appear so fair To fond imagination, Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation.
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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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...one interior life in which all beings live with God, themselves are God, existing in the mighty whole, indistinguishable as the cloudless east is from the cloudless west, when all the hemisphere is one cerulean blue.
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If thou art beautiful, and youth and thought endue thee with all truth-be strong--be worthy of the grace of God.
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And homeless near a thousand homes I stood, And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.
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A light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove.
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Truths that wake To perish never
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The fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world Have hung upon the beatings of my heart.
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She seemed a thing that could not feel the touch of earthly years.
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The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, That no philosophy can lift.
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The sunshine is a glorious birth But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.
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No motion has she now, no force she neither hears nor sees rolled around in earth's diurnal course, with rocks, and stones, and trees.
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A cheerful life is what the Muses love. A soaring spirit is their prime delight.
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my brain Worked with a dim and undetermined sense Of unknown modes of being o'er my thoughts There hung a darkness, call it solitude Or blank desertion.
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Minds that have nothing to confer Find little to perceive.
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This City now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie Open unto the fields and to the sky All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
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Type of the wise who soar but never roam, True to the kindred points of heaven and home.
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Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky! Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound? Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground?
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Heaven lies about us in our infancy.
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