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Meek Walton's heavenly memory.

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
Memories
Walton
Meek
Heavenly
Memory

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Hearing often-times the still, sad music of humanity, nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power to chasten and subdue.
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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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Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
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The sightless Milton, with his hair Around his placid temples curled And Shakespeare at his side,-a freight, If clay could think and mind were weight, For him who bore the world!
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Come forth into the light of things, let nature be your teacher.
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Books are yours, Within whose silent chambers treasure lies Preserved from age to age more precious far Than that accumulated store of gold And orient gems, which, for a day of need, The Sultan hides deep in ancestral tombs. These hoards of truth you can unlock at will.
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He spake of love, such love as spirits feel In worlds whose course is equable and pure No fears to beat away, no strife to heal,- The past unsighed for, and the future sure.
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The childhood of today is the manhood of tomorrow
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Take the sweet poetry of life away, and what remains behind?
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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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That best portion of a man's life, his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.
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How is it that you live, and what is it you do?
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Sweetest melodies.Are those that are by distance made more sweet.
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Look at the fate of summer flowers, which blow at daybreak, droop ere even-song.
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Milton, thou should'st be living at this hour.
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Love betters what is best
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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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But an old age serene and bright, and lovely as a Lapland night, shall lead thee to thy grave.
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Wisdom is oftentimes nearer when we stoop than when we soar.
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