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Every gift of noble origin Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath.
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
Noble
Gift
Upon
Breathed
Hope
Nobility
Every
Origin
Perpetual
Breath
Breaths
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The Eagle, he was lord above
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A man he seems of cheerful yesterdays And confident tomorrows.
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In truth the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is.
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A cheerful life is what the Muses love. A soaring spirit is their prime delight.
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Delight and liberty, the simple creed of childhood.
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Like thoughts whose very sweetness yielded proof that they were born for immortality.
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Careless of books, yet having felt the power Of Nature, by the gentle agency Of natural objects, led me on to feel For passions that were not my own, and think (At random and imperfectly indeed) On man, the heart of man, and human life.
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Like an army defeated the snow hath retreated.
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The child is father of the man.
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To character and success, two things, contradictory as they may seem, must go together... humble dependence on God and manly reliance on self.
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Yet sometimes, when the secret cup Of still and serious thought went round, It seemed as if he drank it up, He felt with spirit so profound.
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The Primrose for a veil had spread The largest of her upright leaves And thus for purposes benign, A simple flower deceives.
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Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee! . . . . . . Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart: So didst thou travel on life's common way In cheerful godliness.
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There's something in a flying horse, There's something in a huge balloon.
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Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence.
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The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink I heard a voice it said Drink, pretty creature, drink'
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Come grow old with me. The best is yet to be.
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Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower, We feel that we are greater than we know.
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Minds that have nothing to confer Find little to perceive.
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