Quote

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.

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
Stills
Seemed
Still
Profound
Sometimes
Serious
Went
Secret
Drank
Felt
Cups
Spirit
Round
Thought
Rounds

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Poetry is emotion recollected in tranquillity.
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Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.
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Pleasures newly found are sweet When they lie about our feet.
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To be young was very heaven!
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Then my heart with pleasure fills And dances with the daffodils.
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Truth takes no account of centuries.
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Everything is tedious when one does not read with the feeling of the Author.
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The feather, whence the pen Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men, Dropped from an angel's wing.
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Spade! Thou art a tool of honor in my hands. I press thee, through a yielding soil, with pride.
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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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Dust as we are, the immortal spirit grows Like harmony in music there is a dark Inscrutable workmanship that reconciles Discordant elements, makes them cling together In one society.
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Long as there's a sun that sets, Primroses will have their glory Long as there are violets, They will have a place in story: There's a flower that shall be mine, 'Tis the little Celandine.
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