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Then blame not those who, by the mightiest lever Known to the moral world, Imagination.

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
World
Lever
Mightiest
Levers
Blame
Imagination
Moral
Known

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Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.
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There is creation in the eye.
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Alas! how little can a moment show Of an eye where feeling plays In ten thousand dewy rays: A face o'er which a thousand shadows go!
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Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit, and play with similes, Loose type of things through all degrees.
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Fear is a cloak which old men huddle about their love, as if to keep it warm.
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The sunshine is a glorious birth But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.
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Look at the fate of summer flowers, which blow at daybreak, droop ere even-song.
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My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began So is it now I am a man.
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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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Take the sweet poetry of life away, and what remains behind?
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Whether we be young or old,Our destiny, our being's heart and home,Is with infinitude, and only thereWith hope it is, hope that can never die,Effort and expectation, and desire,And something evermore about to be.
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Like an army defeated the snow hath retreated.
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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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In truth the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is.
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Milton, thou should'st be living at this hour.
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But how can he expect that others should Build for him, sow for him, and at his call Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all?
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Miss not the occasion by the forelock take that subtle power, the never-halting time.
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In ourselves our safety must be sought. By our own right hand it must be wrought.
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Hope smiled when your nativity was cast, Children of Summer!
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