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A deep distress has humanised my soul.

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
Soul
Distress
Deep

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To the solid ground Of nature trusts the Mind that builds for aye.
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Shalt show us how divine a thing A woman may be made.
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Come forth into the light of things, let nature be your teacher.
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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting. Not in entire forgetfulness, and not in utter nakedness, but trailing clouds of glory do we come.
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Our meddling intellect Misshapes the beauteous forms of things We murder to dissect
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Sad fancies do we then affect, In luxury of disrespect To our own prodigal excess Of too familiar happiness.
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How is it that you live, and what is it you do?
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A babe, by intercourse of touch I held mute dialogues with my Mother's heart.
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My apprehension comes in crowds, I dread the rustling of the grass, The very shadows of the clouds, Have power to shake me as they pass, I question things and do not find, one that will answer to my mind, And all the world appears unkind.
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Dust as we are, the immortal spirit grows Like harmony in music there is a dark Inscrutable workmanship that reconciles Discordant elements, makes them cling together In one society.
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The feather, whence the pen Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men, Dropped from an angel's wing.
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Memories... images and precious thoughts that shall not die and cannot be destroyed.
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Look at the fate of summer flowers, which blow at daybreak, droop ere even-song.
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A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable.
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