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Fear is a cloak which old men huddle about their love, as if to keep it warm.

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
Men
Love
Huddle
Cloak
Cloaks
Warm
Fear
Keep

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...one interior life in which all beings live with God, themselves are God, existing in the mighty whole, indistinguishable as the cloudless east is from the cloudless west, when all the hemisphere is one cerulean blue.
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To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
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As high as we have mounted in delight, In our dejection do we sink as low.
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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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I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills When all at once I saw a crowd A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake beneath the trees Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
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And I am happy when I sing.
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my brain Worked with a dim and undetermined sense Of unknown modes of being o'er my thoughts There hung a darkness, call it solitude Or blank desertion.
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The monumental pomp of age Was with this goodly personage A stature undepressed in size, Unbent, which rather seemed to rise In open victory o'er the weight Of seventy years, to loftier height.
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Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade Of that which once was great is passed away.
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The thought of death sits easy on the man Who has been born and dies among the mountains.
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From the body of one guilty deed a thousand ghostly fears and haunting thoughts proceed.
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I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts a sense sublime of something far more deeply interfused, whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, and the round ocean, and the living air, and the blue sky, and in the mind of man.
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