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This solitary Tree! a living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay Of form and aspect too magnificent To be destroyed.

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
Destroyed
Aspect
Tree
Living
Decay
Form
Magnificent
Ever
Solitary
Thing
Produced
Slowly

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Poetry is the first and last of all knowledge - it is as immortal as the heart of man.
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Yon foaming flood seems motionless as iceIts dizzy turbulence eludes the eye,Frozen by distance.
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Ten thousand saw I at a glance, tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
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And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love.
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Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee! . . . . . . Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart: So didst thou travel on life's common way In cheerful godliness.
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The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.
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And when the stream Which overflowed the soul was passed away, A consciousness remained that it had left Deposited upon the silent shore Of memory images and precious thoughts That shall not die, and cannot be destroyed.
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Elysian beauty, melancholy grace, Brought from a pensive though a happy place.
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At length the man perceives it die away, And fade into the light of common day.
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He loves not well whose love is bold! I would not have thee come too nigh. The sun's gold would not seem pure gold Unless the sun were in the sky: To take him thence and chain him near Would make his beauty disappear. William Winter, Love's Queen. The unconquerable pang of despised love.
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The wind, a sightless laborer, whistles at his task.
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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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A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable.
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Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies, Let them live upon their praises.
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The intellectual power, through words and things, Went sounding on a dim and perilous way!
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The mind of man is a thousand times more beautiful than the earth on which he dwells.
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Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower, We feel that we are greater than we know.
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The tears into his eyes were brought, And thanks and praises seemed to run So fast out of his heart, I thought They never would have done. -I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds With coldness still returning Alas! the gratitude of men Hath oftener left me mourning.
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A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by One after one the sound of rain, and bees Murmuring the fall of rivers, winds and seas, Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky - I've thought of all by turns, and still I lie Sleepless.
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