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And through the heat of conflict keeps the law In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw.

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
Sees
Keeps
Conflict
Law
Made
Foresaw
Calmness
Heat

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Come grow old with me. The best is yet to be.
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Either still I find Some imperfection in the chosen theme, Or see of absolute accomplishment Much wanting, so much wanting, in myself, That I recoil and droop, and seek repose In listlessness from vain perplexity, Unprofitably travelling towards the grave.
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The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, That no philosophy can lift.
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Wild is the music of autumnal winds Amongst the faded woods.
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The Poet, gentle creature as he is, Hath, like the Lover, his unruly times His fits when he is neither sick nor well, Though no distress be near him but his own Unmanageable thoughts.
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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.
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To be a Prodigal's favourite,-then, worse truth, A Miser's pensioner,-behold our lot!
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The primal duties shine aloft, like stars The charities that soothe, and heal, and bless, Are scattered at the feet of Man, like flowers.
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She seemed a thing that could not feel the touch of earthly years.
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Before us lay a painful road, And guidance have I sought in duteous love From Wisdom's heavenly Father. Hence hath flowed Patience, with trust that, whatsoe'er the way Each takes in this high matter, all may move Cheered with the prospect of a brighter day.
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There is creation in the eye.
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The fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world Have hung upon the beatings of my heart.
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What are fears but voices airy? Whispering harm where harm is not. And deluding the unwary Till the fatal bolt is shot!
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