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The intellectual power, through words and things, Went sounding on a dim and perilous way!
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
Things
Perilous
Sounding
Intellect
Intellectual
Went
Words
Power
Way
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Dreams, books, are each a world.
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In years that bring the philosophic mind.
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Great men have been among us hands that penn'd And tongues that utter'd wisdom--better none
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A lawyer art thou? Draw not nigh! Go, carry to some fitter place The keenness of that practised eye, The hardness of that sallow face.
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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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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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But who, if he be called upon to face Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined Great issues, good or bad for humankind, Is happy as a lover.
William Wordsworth
Milton, in his hand The thing became a trumpet
William Wordsworth
Books! tis a dull and endless strife: Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music! on my life, There's more of wisdom in it.
William Wordsworth
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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A multitude of causes unknown to former times are now acting with a combined force to blunt the discriminating powers of the mind, and unfitting it for all voluntary exertion to reduce it to a state of almost savage torpor.
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one daffodil is worth a thousand pleasures, then one is too few.
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But trailing clouds of glory do we come, From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy!.
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Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.
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A mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of Thought, alone.
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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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A Primrose by a river's brim A yellow primrose was to him And it was something more.
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One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can.
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Strongest minds are often those whom the noisy world hears least.
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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.
William Wordsworth
