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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
Glory
Dream

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Open-mindedness is the harvest of a quiet eye.
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Poetry is most just to its divine origin, when it administers the comforts and breathes the thoughts of religion.
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How is it that you live, and what is it you do?
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He loves not well whose love is bold! I would not have thee come too nigh. The sun's gold would not seem pure gold Unless the sun were in the sky: To take him thence and chain him near Would make his beauty disappear. William Winter, Love's Queen. The unconquerable pang of despised love.
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Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And, even with something of a mother's mind, And no unworthy aim, The homely nurse doth all she can To make her foster child, her inmate man, Forget the glories he hath known And that imperial palace whence he came.
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The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone
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the Mind of Man-- My haunt, and the main region of my song.
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Sweet Mercy! to the gates of heaven This minstrel lead, his sins forgiven The rueful conflict, the heart riven With vain endeavour, And memory of Earth's bitter leaven Effaced forever.
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Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower, We feel that we are greater than we know.
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Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies, Let them live upon their praises.
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Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive But to be young was very heaven.
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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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Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
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A genial hearth, a hospitable board, and a refined rusticity.
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To be young was very heaven!
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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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Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.
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But He is risen, a later star of dawn.
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The budding rose above the rose full blown.
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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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