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The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration.
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
Quiet
Holy
Time
Breathless
Nun
Adoration
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Behold the Child among his new-born blisses A six years' Darling of a pigmy size! See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, With light upon him from his father's eyes! See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, Some fragment from his dream of human life, Shaped by himself with newly-learned art.
William Wordsworth
The daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.
William Wordsworth
The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone
William Wordsworth
I, methought, while the sweet breath of heaven Was blowing on my body, felt within A correspondent breeze, that gently moved With quickening virtue, but is now become A tempest, a redundant energy, Vexing its own creation.
William Wordsworth
The world is too much with us late and soon, getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours.
William Wordsworth
Babylon, Learned and wise, hath perished utterly, Nor leaves her speech one word to aid the sigh That would lament her.
William Wordsworth
Dreams, books, are each a world.
William Wordsworth
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar.
William Wordsworth
I look for ghosts but none will force Their way to me. 'Tis falsely said That there was ever intercourse Between the living and the dead.
William Wordsworth
The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, burn to the socket.
William Wordsworth
He murmurs near the running brooks A music sweeter than their own.
William Wordsworth
Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves Of their bad influence, and their good receives.
William Wordsworth
A lawyer art thou? Draw not nigh! Go, carry to some fitter place The keenness of that practised eye, The hardness of that sallow face.
William Wordsworth
The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, An appetite a feeling and a love that had no need of a remoter charm by thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.
William Wordsworth
The clouds that gather round the setting sun, Do take a sober colouring from an eye, That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality.
William Wordsworth
Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.
William Wordsworth
Plain living and high thinking are no more.
William Wordsworth
Poetry has never brought me in enough money to buy shoestrings.
William Wordsworth
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
William Wordsworth
A great poet ought to a certain degree to rectify men's feelings... to render their feelings more sane, pure and permanent, in short, more consonant to Nature.
William Wordsworth
