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Everything is tedious when one does not read with the feeling of the Author.

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
Tedious
Author
Feeling
Read
Feelings
Doe
Everything

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To the solid ground Of nature trusts the Mind that builds for aye.
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Take the sweet poetry of life away, and what remains behind?
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Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.
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Small service is true service, while it lasts.
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Death is the quiet haven of us all.
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I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills When all at once I saw a crowd A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake beneath the trees Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
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Let the moon shine on the in thy solitary walk and let the misty mountain-winds be free to blow against thee.
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To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
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O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird, Or but a wandering voice?
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A famous man is Robin Hood, The English ballad-singer's joy.
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Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room And hermits are contented with their cells.
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The eye— it cannot choose but see we cannot bid the ear be still our bodies feel, where'er they be, against or with our will.
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And mighty poets in their misery dead.
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Truth takes no account of centuries.
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'T is hers to pluck the amaranthine flower Of faith, and round the sufferer's temples bind Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower, And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind.
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in the mind of man, A motion and a spirit, that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things.
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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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Great God! I'd rather be a Pagan.
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