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The stars of midnight shall be dear To her and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face.

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
Stars
Round
Secret
Rounds
Face
Pass
Faces
Ears
Rivulets
Sound
Dear
Wayward
Born
Dance
Murmuring
Place
Shall
Lean
Many
Beauty
Midnight

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The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, That no philosophy can lift.
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A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free.
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Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee! . . . . . . Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart: So didst thou travel on life's common way In cheerful godliness.
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Since thy return, through days and weeks Of hope that grew by stealth, How many wan and faded cheeks Have kindled into health! The Old, by thee revived, have said, 'Another year is ours' And wayworn Wanderers, poorly fed, Have smiled upon thy flowers.
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one daffodil is worth a thousand pleasures, then one is too few.
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My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began So is it now I am a man.
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A genial hearth, a hospitable board, and a refined rusticity.
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