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O Reader! had you in your mind Such stores as silent thought can bring, O gentle Reader! you would find A tale in everything.
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
Silent
Reader
Bring
Thought
Find
Tale
Everything
Stores
Mind
Tales
Would
Gentle
More quotes by William Wordsworth
The sunshine is a glorious birth But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.
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What is good for a bootless bene? With these dark words begins my tale And their meaning is, Whence can comfort spring When prayer is of no avail?
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Meek Nature's evening comment on the shows That for oblivion take their daily birth From all the fuming vanities of earth.
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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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For by superior energies more strict affiance in each other faith more firm in their unhallowed principles, the bad have fairly earned a victory over the weak, the vacillating, inconsistent good.
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Tis said, fantastic ocean doth enfold The likeness of whate'er on land is seen.
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One with more of soul in his face than words on his tongue.
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Science appears but what in truth she is, Not as our glory and our absolute boast, But as a succedaneum, and a prop To our infirmity.
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Nature's old felicities.
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'Tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes!
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Laying out grounds may be considered a liberal art, in some sort like poetry and painting.
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Tis not in battles that from youth we train The Governor who must be wise and good, And temper with the sternness of the brain Thoughts motherly, and meek as womanhood.
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And he is oft the wisest manWho is not wise at all.
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A power is passing from the earth.
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To be a Prodigal's favourite,-then, worse truth, A Miser's pensioner,-behold our lot!
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Bright flower! whose home is everywhere Bold in maternal nature's care And all the long year through the heir Of joy or sorrow, Methinks that there abides in thee Some concord with humanity, Given to no other flower I see The forest through.
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The mind of man is a thousand times more beautiful than the earth on which he dwells.
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Wisdom sits with children round her knees.
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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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A Primrose by a river's brim A yellow primrose was to him And it was something more.
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