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With battlements that on their restless fronts Bore stars.

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
Restless
Boredom
Fronts
Stars
Battlements
Bore
Bores

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Like an army defeated The snow hath retreated, And now doth fare ill On the top of the bare hill The Ploughboy is whooping — anon — anon! There's joy in the mountains: There's life in the fountains Small clouds are sailing, Blue sky prevailing The rain is over and gone.
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Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain That has been, and may be again.
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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.
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The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, burn to the socket.
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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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I listened, motionless and still And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.
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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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Me this uncharted freedom tires I feel the weight of chance desires, My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose that ever is the same.
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A babe, by intercourse of touch I held mute dialogues with my Mother's heart.
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For mightier far Than strength of nerve or sinew, or the sway Of magic potent over sun and star, Is love, though oft to agony distrest, And though his favourite be feeble woman's breast.
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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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There is a luxury in self-dispraise And inward self-disparagement affords To meditative spleen a grateful feast.
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Truth takes no account of centuries.
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For nature then to me was all in all.
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These hoards of wealth you can unlock at will.
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In heaven above, And earth below, they best can serve true gladness Who meet most feelingly the calls of sadness.
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Long as there's a sun that sets, Primroses will have their glory Long as there are violets, They will have a place in story: There's a flower that shall be mine, 'Tis the little Celandine.
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Oh for a single hour of that Dundee Who on that day the word of onset gave!
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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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Minds that have nothing to confer Find little to perceive.
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