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A power is passing from the earth.

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
Passings
Passing
Power
Earth

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That though the radiance which was once so bright be now forever taken from my sight. Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, glory in the flower. We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.
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I travelled among unknown men, In lands beyond the sea Nor England! did I know till then What love I bore to thee.
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Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.
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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 cheerful life is what the Muses love. A soaring spirit is their prime delight.
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What is pride? A rocket that emulates the stars.
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For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.
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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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Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.
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His love was like the liberal air, embracing all, to cheer and bless.
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Like thoughts whose very sweetness yielded proof that they were born for immortality.
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Of all that is most beauteous, imaged there In happier beauty more pellucid streams, An ampler ether, a diviner air, And fields invested with purpureal gleams.
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Truths that wake To perish never
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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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It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the sea: Listen! the mighty being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thundereverlastingly.
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Bright gem instinct with music, vocal spark.
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The Rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the Rose.
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The childhood of today is the manhood of tomorrow
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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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The light that never was, on sea or land The consecration, and the Poet's dream.
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