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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

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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.
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Earth helped him with the cry of blood.
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Two voices are there one is of the sea, One of the mountains: each a mighty Voice.
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A soul so pitiably forlorn, If such do on this earth abide, May season apathy with scorn, May turn indifference to pride And still be not unblest- compared With him who grovels, self-debarred From all that lies within the scope Of holy faith and christian hope Or, shipwrecked, kindles on the coast False fires, that others may be lost.
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Wisdom married to immortal verse.
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Great men have been among us hands that penn'd And tongues that utter'd wisdom--better none
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Knowledge and increase of enduring joy From the great Nature that exists in works Of mighty Poets.
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Memories... images and precious thoughts that shall not die and cannot be destroyed.
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Strongest minds are often those whom the noisy world hears least.
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Sweet is the lore which Nature brings Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things We murder to dissect. Enough of Science and of Art Close up these barren leaves Come forth, and bring with you a heart That watches and receives.
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Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.
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A man he seems of cheerful yesterdays And confident tomorrows.
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Come grow old with me. The best is yet to be.
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Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While 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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Or shipwrecked, kindles on the coast False fires, that others may be lost.
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And the most difficult of tasks to keep Heights which the soul is competent to gain.
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The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration.
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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.
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