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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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There is a comfort in the strength of love 'Twill make a thing endurable, which else would overset the brain, or break the heart.
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Not Chaos, not the darkest pit of lowest Erebus, nor aught of blinder vacancy, scooped out by help of dreams - can breed such fear and awe as fall upon us often when we look into our Minds, into the Mind of Man.
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Have I not reason to lament What man has made of man?
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A few strong instincts and a few plain rules.
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The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, That no philosophy can lift.
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Of all that is most beauteous, imaged there In happier beauty more pellucid streams, An ampler ether, a diviner air, And fields invested with purpureal gleams.
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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting.
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Small service is true service, while it lasts.
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A cheerful life is what the Muses love. A soaring spirit is their prime delight.
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Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour Have passed away less happy than the one That by the unwilling ploughshare died to prove The tender charm of poetry and love.
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Every great and original writer, in proportion as he is great and original, must himself create the taste by which he is to be relished.
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The Eagle, he was lord above
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That kill the bloom before its time, And blanch, without the owner's crime, The most resplendent hair.
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Laying out grounds may be considered a liberal art, in some sort like poetry and painting.
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In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay Tribute to ease and, of its joy secure, The heart luxuriates with indifferent things, Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones, And on the vacant air.
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Hope smiled when your nativity was cast, Children of Summer!
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The silence that is in the starry sky, / The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
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