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She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be But she is in her grave, and oh The difference to me!
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
Grave
Graves
Unknown
Lived
Difference
Differences
Life
Lucy
Ceased
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Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep/ Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind.
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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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That mighty orb of song, The divine Milton.
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Laying out grounds may be considered a liberal art, in some sort like poetry and painting.
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The ocean is a mighty harmonist.
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Therefore am I still a lover of the meadows and the woods, and mountains and of all that we behold from this green earth.
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By all means sometimes be alone salute thyself see what thy soul doth wear dare to look in thy chest and tumble up and down what thou findest there.
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May books and nature be their early joy!
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And now I see with eye serene, The very pulse of the machine. A being breathing thoughtful breaths, A traveler between life and death.
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Small service is true service, while it lasts.
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Thou has left behind Powers that will work for thee,-air, earth, and skies! There 's not a breathing of the common wind That will forget thee thou hast great allies Thy friends are exultations, agonies, And love, and man's unconquerable mind.
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A soul so pitiably forlorn, If such do on this earth abide, May season apathy with scorn, May turn indifference to pride And still be not unblest- compared With him who grovels, self-debarred From all that lies within the scope Of holy faith and christian hope Or, shipwrecked, kindles on the coast False fires, that others may be lost.
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Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves Of their bad influence, and their good receives.
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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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Hearing often-times the still, sad music of humanity, nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power to chasten and subdue.
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Monastic brotherhood, upon rock Aerial.
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But who is innocent? By grace divine, Not otherwise,O Nature! we are thine.
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