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Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade Of that which once was great is passed away.

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
Men
Grieve
Grieving
Shade
Passed
Away
Must
Great
Even

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The mind that is wise mourns less for what age takes away than what it leaves behind.
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Then blame not those who, by the mightiest lever Known to the moral world, Imagination.
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Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.
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Sad fancies do we then affect, In luxury of disrespect To our own prodigal excess Of too familiar happiness.
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A soul so pitiably forlorn, If such do on this earth abide, May season apathy with scorn, May turn indifference to pride And still be not unblest- compared With him who grovels, self-debarred From all that lies within the scope Of holy faith and christian hope Or, shipwrecked, kindles on the coast False fires, that others may be lost.
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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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Poetry is the first and last of all knowledge - it is as immortal as the heart of man.
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We must be free or die, who speak the tongue That Shakespeare spake the faith and morals hold Which Milton held.
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Imagination is the means of deep insight and sympathy, the power to conceive and express images removed from normal objective reality.
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Small service is true service, while it lasts.
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That blessed mood in which the burthen of the mystery, in which the heavy and the weary weight of all this unintelligible world is lightened.
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Elysian beauty, melancholy grace, Brought from a pensive though a happy place.
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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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Father! - to God himself we cannot give a holier name.
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Miss not the occasion by the forelock take that subtle power, the never-halting time.
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We live by Admiration, Hope, and Love And, even as these are well and wisely fixed, In dignity of being we ascend.
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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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Life is divided into three terms - that which was, which is, and which will be. Let us learn from the past to profit by the present, and from the present, to live better in the future.
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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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