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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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Babylon, Learned and wise, hath perished utterly, Nor leaves her speech one word to aid the sigh That would lament her.
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Strongest minds are often those whom the noisy world hears least.
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Spires whose silent finger points to heaven.
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That mighty orb of song, The divine Milton.
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The feather, whence the pen Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men, Dropped from an angel's wing.
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Poetry is emotion recollected in tranquillity.
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Poetry has never brought me in enough money to buy shoestrings.
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Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.
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When his veering gait And every motion of his starry train Seem governed by a strain Of music, audible to him alone.
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Serene will be our days, and bright and happy will our nature be, when love is an unerring light, and joy its own security.
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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting. Not in entire forgetfulness, and not in utter nakedness, but trailing clouds of glory do we come.
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Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower.
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Like thoughts whose very sweetness yielded proof that they were born for immortality.
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Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
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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 mind of man is a thousand times more beautiful than the earth on which he dwells.
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