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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
Divine
Song
Orbs
Milton
Mighty
Divinity

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And when the stream Which overflowed the soul was passed away, A consciousness remained that it had left Deposited upon the silent shore Of memory images and precious thoughts That shall not die, and cannot be destroyed.
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The eye— it cannot choose but see we cannot bid the ear be still our bodies feel, where'er they be, against or with our will.
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In ourselves our safety must be sought. By our own right hand it must be wrought.
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A cheerful life is what the Muses love. A soaring spirit is their prime delight.
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[Mathematics] is an independent world created out of pure intelligence.
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The Primrose for a veil had spread The largest of her upright leaves And thus for purposes benign, A simple flower deceives.
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The education of circumstances is superior to that of tuition.
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The gods approve The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul.
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No motion has she now, no force she neither hears nor sees rolled around in earth's diurnal course, with rocks, and stones, and trees.
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The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration.
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Like thoughts whose very sweetness yielded proof that they were born for immortality.
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The silence that is in the starry sky, / The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
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Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.
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'T is hers to pluck the amaranthine flower Of faith, and round the sufferer's temples bind Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower, And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind.
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Wrongs unredressed, or insults unavenged.
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poetry is the breath and finer spirit of knowledge
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Now when the primrose makes a splendid show, And lilies face the March-winds in full blow, And humbler growths as moved with one desire Put on, to welcome spring, their best attire, Poor Robin is yet flowerless but how gay With his red stalks upon this sunny day!
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In spite of difference of soil and climate, of language and manners, of laws and customs-in spite of things silently gone out of mind, and things violently destroyed, the Poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society, as it is spread over the whole earth, and over all time.
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Ten thousand saw I at a glance, tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
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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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