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Where the statue stood Of Newton, with his prism and silent face, The marble index of a mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of thought alone.
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
Alone
Seas
Forever
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Newton
Faces
Marble
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Prism
Mind
Silent
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More quotes by William Wordsworth
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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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.
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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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Laying out grounds... may be considered as a liberal art, in some sort like poetry and painting.... it is to assist Nature in moving the affections... the affections of those who have the deepest perception of the beauty of Nature.
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Huge and mighty forms that do not live like living men, moved slowly through the mind by day and were trouble to my dreams.
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A great poet ought to a certain degree to rectify men's feelings... to render their feelings more sane, pure and permanent, in short, more consonant to Nature.
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A power is passing from the earth.
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The harvest of a quiet eye, That broods and sleeps on his own heart.
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Plain living and high thinking are no more.
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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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Spires whose silent finger points to heaven.
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Books are the best type of the influence of the past.
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Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room And hermits are contented with their cells.
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The first cuckoo's melancholy cry.
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The streams with softest sound are flowing, The grass you almost hear it growing, You hear it now, if e'er you can.
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But to a higher mark than song can reach, Rose this pure eloquence.
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And he is oft the wisest manWho is not wise at all.
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And the most difficult of tasks to keep Heights which the soul is competent to gain.
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Up! up! my friend, and quit your books, Or surely you 'll grow double! Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks! Why all this toil and trouble?
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Fear is a cloak which old men huddle about their love, as if to keep it warm.
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