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Where is it now, the glory and the dream?

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
Dream
Glory

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Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!
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My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.
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Meek Walton's heavenly memory.
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Life is divided into three terms - that which was, which is, and which will be. Let us learn from the past to profit by the present, and from the present, to live better in the future.
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The mind of man is a thousand times more beautiful than the earth on which he dwells.
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But an old age serene and bright, and lovely as a Lapland night, shall lead thee to thy grave.
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As in the eye of Nature he has lived, So in the eye of Nature let him die!
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Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies, Let them live upon their praises.
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A simple child. That lightly draws its breath. And feels its life in every limb. What should it know of death?
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The softest breeze to fairest flowers gives birth: Think not that Prudence dwells in dark abodes, She scans the future with the eye of gods.
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I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills When all at once I saw a crowd A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake beneath the trees Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
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There's something in a flying horse, There's something in a huge balloon.
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Dreams, books, are each a world.
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In years that bring the philosophic mind.
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The first cuckoo's melancholy cry.
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The child is the father of man.
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Mark the babe not long accustomed to this breathing world One that hath barely learned to shape a smile, though yet irrational of soul, to grasp with tiny finger - to let fall a tear And, as the heavy cloud of sleep dissolves, To stretch his limbs, becoming, as might seem. The outward functions of intelligent man.
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The human mind is capable of excitement without the application of gross and violent stimulants and he must have a very faint perception of its beauty and dignity who does not know this.
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The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration.
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The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, That no philosophy can lift.
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