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That mighty orb of song, The divine Milton.

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
Milton
Mighty
Divinity
Divine
Song
Orbs

More quotes by William Wordsworth

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Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky! Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound? Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground?
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The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, That no philosophy can lift.
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Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.
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A Primrose by a river's brim A yellow primrose was to him And it was something more.
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Let Nature be your teacher
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Up! up! my friend, and quit your books, Or surely you 'll grow double! Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks! Why all this toil and trouble?
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A mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of Thought, alone.
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Choice word and measured phrase above the reach Of ordinary men.
William Wordsworth
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By happy chance we saw A twofold image: on a grassy bank A snow-white ram, and in the crystal flood Another and the same!
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Stern daughter of the voice of God! O Duty! if that name thou love Who art a light to guide, a rod To check the erring and reprove.
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And now I see with eye serene, The very pulse of the machine. A being breathing thoughtful breaths, A traveler between life and death.
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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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Two voices are there one is of the sea, One of the mountains: each a mighty Voice.
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And through the heat of conflict keeps the law In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw.
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She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be But she is in her grave, and oh The difference to me!
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Plain living and high thinking are no more.
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Burn all the statutes and their shelves: They stir us up against our kind And worse, against ourselves.
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Since thy return, through days and weeks Of hope that grew by stealth, How many wan and faded cheeks Have kindled into health! The Old, by thee revived, have said, 'Another year is ours' And wayworn Wanderers, poorly fed, Have smiled upon thy flowers.
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But trailing clouds of glory do we come, From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy!.
William Wordsworth
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A tale in everything.
William Wordsworth