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The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.

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
Sadness
Weight
Wonder
Lost

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Come forth into the light of things, let nature be your teacher.
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Those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realised, High instincts before which our mortal Nature Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised
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Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And, even with something of a mother's mind, And no unworthy aim, The homely nurse doth all she can To make her foster child, her inmate man, Forget the glories he hath known And that imperial palace whence he came.
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She was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight, A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament Her eyes as stars of twilight fair, Like twilights too her dusky hair, But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful dawn.
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And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man.
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The very flowers are sacred to the poor.
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The light that never was, on sea or land The consecration, and the Poet's dream.
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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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Choice word and measured phrase above the reach Of ordinary men.
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Imagination, which in truth Is but another name for absolute power And clearest insight, amplitude of mind, And reason, in her most exalted mood.
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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting.
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