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Poetry is the outcome of emotions recollected in tranquility.

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
Recollected
Tranquility
Outcome
Outcomes
Emotions
Poetry
Emotion

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The vision and the faculty divine Yet wanting the accomplishment of verse.
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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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The earth was all before me. With a heart Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty, I look about and should the chosen guide Be nothing better than a wandering cloud, I cannot miss my way.
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Heaven lies about us in our infancy.
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Bright flower! whose home is everywhere Bold in maternal nature's care And all the long year through the heir Of joy or sorrow, Methinks that there abides in thee Some concord with humanity, Given to no other flower I see The forest through.
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What is good for a bootless bene? With these dark words begins my tale And their meaning is, Whence can comfort spring When prayer is of no avail?
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The feather, whence the pen Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men, Dropped from an angel's wing.
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To the solid ground Of nature trusts the Mind that builds for aye.
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I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts a sense sublime of something far more deeply interfused, whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, and the round ocean, and the living air, and the blue sky, and in the mind of man.
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Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none / Look up a second time, and, one by one, / You mark them twinkling out with silvery light, / And wonder how they could elude the sight!
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...one interior life in which all beings live with God, themselves are God, existing in the mighty whole, indistinguishable as the cloudless east is from the cloudless west, when all the hemisphere is one cerulean blue.
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Truth takes no account of centuries.
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Prompt to move but firm to wait - knowing things rashly sought are rarely found.
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But hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity.
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Father! - to God himself we cannot give a holier name.
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The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink I heard a voice it said Drink, pretty creature, drink'
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Truths that wake To perish never
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Have I not reason to lament What man has made of man?
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Hope smiled when your nativity was cast, Children of Summer!
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Nature's old felicities.
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