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But how can he expect that others should Build for him, sow for him, and at his call Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all?

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
Call
Others
Take
Love
Heed
Expect
Build

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One that would peep and botanize Upon his mother's grave.
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Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will Dear God! the very houses seem asleep And all that mighty heart is lying still!
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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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But thou that didst appear so fair To fond imagination, Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation.
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Tis not in battles that from youth we train The Governor who must be wise and good, And temper with the sternness of the brain Thoughts motherly, and meek as womanhood.
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There's something in a flying horse, There's something in a huge balloon.
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A babe, by intercourse of touch I held mute dialogues with my Mother's heart.
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Tis said, fantastic ocean doth enfold The likeness of whate'er on land is seen.
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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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She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love.
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Those old credulities, to Nature dear, Shall they no longer bloom upon the stock Of history?
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Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!
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Now when the primrose makes a splendid show, And lilies face the March-winds in full blow, And humbler growths as moved with one desire Put on, to welcome spring, their best attire, Poor Robin is yet flowerless but how gay With his red stalks upon this sunny day!
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The memory of the just survives in Heaven.
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His love was like the liberal air, embracing all, to cheer and bless.
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Delivered from the galling yoke of time.
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Open-mindedness is the harvest of a quiet eye.
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The vision and the faculty divine Yet wanting the accomplishment of verse.
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In heaven above, And earth below, they best can serve true gladness Who meet most feelingly the calls of sadness.
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A genial hearth, a hospitable board, and a refined rusticity.
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