Quote

On a fair prospect some have looked, And felt, as I have heard them say, As if the moving time had been A thing as steadfast as the scene On which they gazed themselves away.

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
Moving
Gazed
Felt
Steadfast
Away
Prospect
Thing
Fairs
Time
Fair
Looked
Scene
Heard

More quotes by William Wordsworth

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One in whom persuasion and belief Had ripened into faith, and faith become A passionate intuition.
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Yet tears to human suffering are due And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown Are mourned by man, and not by man 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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We bow our heads before Thee, and we laud, And magnify thy name Almighty God! But man is thy most awful instrument, In working out a pure intent.
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Type of the wise who soar but never roam, True to the kindred points of heaven and home.
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Stern daughter of the voice of God! O Duty! if that name thou love Who art a light to guide, a rod To check the erring and reprove.
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Action is transitory, a step, a blow, The motion of a muscle, this way or that, 'Tis done--And in the after-vacancy, We wonder at ourselves, like men betrayed.
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Imagination, which in truth Is but another name for absolute power And clearest insight, amplitude of mind, And reason, in her most exalted mood.
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For oft, when on my couch I lie in vacant or in pensive mood they flash upon that inward eye which is the bliss of solitude
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Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters.
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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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For nature then to me was all in all.
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Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.
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Dreams, books, are each a world and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good: Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow.
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Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed Their snow-white blossoms on my head, With brightest sunshine round me spread Of spring's unclouded weather, In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard-seat! And birds and flowers once more to greet, My last year's friends together.
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The unconquerable pang of despised love.
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True beauty dwells in deep retreats, Whose veil is unremoved Till heart with heart in concord beats, And the lover is beloved.
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For by superior energies more strict affiance in each other faith more firm in their unhallowed principles, the bad have fairly earned a victory over the weak, the vacillating, inconsistent good.
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Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.
William Wordsworth
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Poetry is emotion recollected in tranquillity.
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