Quote

The clouds that gather round the setting sun, Do take a sober colouring from an eye, That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality.

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
Kept
Mortality
Sun
Sober
Watches
Hath
Watch
Settings
Eye
Round
Death
Rounds
Take
Setting
Colouring
Men
Clouds
Gather

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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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Even thus last night, and two nights more I lay, And could not win thee, Sleep, by any stealth: So do not let me wear to-night away. Without thee what is all the morning's wealth? Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
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The child is father of the man: And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.
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Scorn not the sonnet. Critic, you have frowned, Mindless of its just honours with this key Shakespeare unlocked his heart.
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Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit, and play with similes, Loose type of things through all degrees.
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As generations come and go, Their arts, their customs, ebb and flow Fate, fortune, sweep strong powers away, And feeble, of themselves, decay.
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In heaven above, And earth below, they best can serve true gladness Who meet most feelingly the calls of sadness.
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One of those heavenly days that cannot die.
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Sweet is the lore which Nature brings Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things: We murder to dissect.
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What we have loved Others will love And we will teach them how.
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Action is transitory, a step, a blow, The motion of a muscle, this way or that, 'Tis done--And in the after-vacancy, We wonder at ourselves, like men betrayed.
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But who would force the soul tilts with a straw Against a champion cased in adamant
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poetry is the breath and finer spirit of knowledge
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Ten thousand saw I at a glance, tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
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How fast has brother followed brother, From sunshine to the sunless land!
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Two voices are there one is of the sea, One of the mountains: each a mighty Voice.
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The thought of our past years in me doth breed perpetual benedictions.
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Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour Have passed away less happy than the one That by the unwilling ploughshare died to prove The tender charm of poetry and love.
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Yon foaming flood seems motionless as iceIts dizzy turbulence eludes the eye,Frozen by distance.
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Faith is a passionate intuition.
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