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Stop thinking for once in your life!

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
Life
Stop
Thinking

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Take the sweet poetry of life away, and what remains behind?
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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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That blessed mood in which the burthen of the mystery, in which the heavy and the weary weight of all this unintelligible world is lightened.
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There is creation in the eye.
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The moving accident is not my trade To freeze the blood I have no ready arts: 'Tis my delight, alone in summer shade, To pipe a simple song for thinking hearts.
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We live by Admiration, Hope, and Love And, even as these are well and wisely fixed, In dignity of being we ascend.
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The primal duties shine aloft, like stars The charities that soothe, and heal, and bless, Are scattered at the feet of Man, like flowers.
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And when a damp Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand The thing became a trumpet whence he blew Soul-animating strains,-alas! too few.
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Sweet Mercy! to the gates of heaven This minstrel lead, his sins forgiven The rueful conflict, the heart riven With vain endeavour, And memory of Earth's bitter leaven Effaced forever.
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A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
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Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep/ Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind.
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May books and nature be their early joy!
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It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the sea: Listen! the mighty being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thundereverlastingly.
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Primroses, the Spring may love them Summer knows but little of them.
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Father! - to God himself we cannot give a holier name.
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Poetry is the first and last of all knowledge - it is as immortal as the heart of man.
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Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
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Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry and these we adore Plain living and high thinking are no more.
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The mysteries that cups of flowers infold And all the gorgeous sights which fairies do behold.
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What is pride? A rocket that emulates the stars.
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