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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
Nature
Soul
Ever
Anon
Recognizes
Stirring
Breeze

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With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things.
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I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, wherever nature led.
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He spake of love, such love as spirits feel In worlds whose course is equable and pure No fears to beat away, no strife to heal,- The past unsighed for, and the future sure.
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What is good for a bootless bene? With these dark words begins my tale And their meaning is, Whence can comfort spring When prayer is of no avail?
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To character and success, two things, contradictory as they may seem, must go together... humble dependence on God and manly reliance on self.
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The harvest of a quiet eye, That broods and sleeps on his own heart.
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That kill the bloom before its time, And blanch, without the owner's crime, The most resplendent hair.
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Earth helped him with the cry of blood.
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As in the eye of Nature he has lived, So in the eye of Nature let him die!
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Thou unassuming common-place of Nature, with that homely face.
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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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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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Sweet Mercy! to the gates of heaven This minstrel lead, his sins forgiven The rueful conflict, the heart riven With vain endeavour, And memory of Earth's bitter leaven Effaced forever.
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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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These hoards of wealth you can unlock at will.
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O Reader! had you in your mind Such stores as silent thought can bring, O gentle Reader! you would find A tale in everything.
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But an old age serene and bright, and lovely as a Lapland night, shall lead thee to thy grave.
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Let beeves and home-bred kine partake The sweets of Burn-mill meadow The swan on still St. Mary's Lake Float double, swan and shadow!
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The gods approve The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul.
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The earth was all before me. With a heart Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty, I look about and should the chosen guide Be nothing better than a wandering cloud, I cannot miss my way.
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