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Men who can hear the Decalogue, and feel To self-reproach.

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
Reproach
Hear
Self
Feel
Feels

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Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will Dear God! the very houses seem asleep And all that mighty heart is lying still!
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Great God! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn
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Worse than idle is compassion if it ends in tears and sighs.
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Tis not in battles that from youth we train The Governor who must be wise and good, And temper with the sternness of the brain Thoughts motherly, and meek as womanhood.
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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 mind that is wise mourns less for what age takes away than what it leaves behind.
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But to a higher mark than song can reach, Rose this pure eloquence.
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And he is oft the wisest manWho is not wise at all.
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On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life, Musing is solitude
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A multitude of causes unknown to former times are now acting with a combined force to blunt the discriminating powers of the mind, and unfitting it for all voluntary exertion to reduce it to a state of almost savage torpor.
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Bright gem instinct with music, vocal spark.
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Knowing that Nature never did betray the heart that loved her 'tis her privilege, through all the years of this our life, to lead from joy to joy.
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[Mathematics] is an independent world created out of pure intelligence.
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Serene will be our days, and bright and happy will our nature be, when love is an unerring light, and joy its own security.
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And the most difficult of tasks to keep Heights which the soul is competent to gain.
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With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things.
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the Mind of Man-- My haunt, and the main region of my song.
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Even thus last night, and two nights more I lay, And could not win thee, Sleep, by any stealth: So do not let me wear to-night away. Without thee what is all the morning's wealth? Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
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Far from the world I walk, and from all care.
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Wisdom is oftentimes nearer when we stoop than when we soar.
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