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Recognizes ever and anon The breeze of Nature stirring in his soul.

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
Anon
Recognizes
Stirring
Breeze
Nature
Soul
Ever

More quotes by William Wordsworth

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The softest breeze to fairest flowers gives birth: Think not that Prudence dwells in dark abodes, She scans the future with the eye of gods.
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Often have I sighed to measure By myself a lonely pleasure,- Sighed to think I read a book, Only read, perhaps, by me.
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By happy chance we saw A twofold image: on a grassy bank A snow-white ram, and in the crystal flood Another and the same!
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Books! tis a dull and endless strife: Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music! on my life, There's more of wisdom in it.
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Laying out grounds may be considered a liberal art, in some sort like poetry and painting.
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And when a damp Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand The thing became a trumpet whence he blew Soul-animating strains,-alas! too few.
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We murder to dissect.
William Wordsworth
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Even thus last night, and two nights more I lay, And could not win thee, Sleep, by any stealth: So do not let me wear to-night away. Without thee what is all the morning's wealth? Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
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I'll teach my boy the sweetest things I'll teach him how the owlet sings.
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Departing summer hath assumed An aspect tenderly illumed, The gentlest look of spring That calls from yonder leafy shade Unfaded, yet prepared to fade, A timely carolling.
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Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.
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For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.
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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 So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The Child is father of the Man I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.
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Elysian beauty, melancholy grace, Brought from a pensive though a happy place.
William Wordsworth
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The wind, a sightless laborer, whistles at his task.
William Wordsworth
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There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream.
William Wordsworth
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The best of what we do and are, Just God, forgive!
William Wordsworth
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But who shall parcel out His intellect by geometric rules, Split like a province into round and square?
William Wordsworth
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Nature never did betray the heart that loved her.
William Wordsworth
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Bright gem instinct with music, vocal spark.
William Wordsworth