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In years that bring the philosophic mind.

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
Philosophic
Bring
Mind
Years

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A power is passing from the earth.
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Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.
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To the solid ground Of nature trusts the Mind that builds for aye.
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And homeless near a thousand homes I stood, And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.
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And suddenly all your troubles melt away, all your worries are gone, and it is for no reason other than the look in your partner's eyes. Yes, sometimes life and love really is that simple.
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And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love.
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Men who can hear the Decalogue, and feel To self-reproach.
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The child is father of the man.
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Knowing that Nature never did betray the heart that loved her 'tis her privilege, through all the years of this our life, to lead from joy to joy.
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What are fears but voices airy? Whispering harm where harm is not. And deluding the unwary Till the fatal bolt is shot!
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Free as a bird to settle where I will.
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But He is risen, a later star of dawn.
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The sightless Milton, with his hair Around his placid temples curled And Shakespeare at his side,-a freight, If clay could think and mind were weight, For him who bore the world!
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Our meddling intellect Misshapes the beauteous forms of things We murder to dissect
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Plain living and high thinking are no more.
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Departing summer hath assumed An aspect tenderly illumed, The gentlest look of spring That calls from yonder leafy shade Unfaded, yet prepared to fade, A timely carolling.
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There is a comfort in the strength of love 'Twill make a thing endurable, which else would overset the brain, or break the heart.
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Let beeves and home-bred kine partake The sweets of Burn-mill meadow The swan on still St. Mary's Lake Float double, swan and shadow!
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He who feels contempt for any living thing hath faculties that he hath never used, and thought with him is in its infancy.
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Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room And hermits are contented with their cells.
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