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There is a luxury in self-dispraise And inward self-disparagement affords To meditative spleen a grateful feast.
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
Spleen
Meditative
Affords
Feast
Inward
Luxury
Grateful
Dispraise
Self
Disparagement
More quotes by William Wordsworth
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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That kill the bloom before its time, And blanch, without the owner's crime, The most resplendent hair.
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Dreams, books, are each a world and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good: Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow.
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The light that never was, on sea or land The consecration, and the Poet's dream.
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Have I not reason to lament What man has made of man?
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The ocean is a mighty harmonist.
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At length the man perceives it die away, And fade into the light of common day.
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Careless of books, yet having felt the power Of Nature, by the gentle agency Of natural objects, led me on to feel For passions that were not my own, and think (At random and imperfectly indeed) On man, the heart of man, and human life.
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Poetry is emotion recollected in tranquillity.
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The very flowers are sacred to the poor.
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Memories... images and precious thoughts that shall not die and cannot be destroyed.
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One of those heavenly days that cannot die.
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The best of what we do and are, Just God, forgive!
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The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, That no philosophy can lift.
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The Primrose for a veil had spread The largest of her upright leaves And thus for purposes benign, A simple flower deceives.
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Me this uncharted freedom tires I feel the weight of chance desires, My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose that ever is the same.
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Earth has not anything to show more fair.
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Let the moon shine on the in thy solitary walk and let the misty mountain-winds be free to blow against thee.
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Pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.
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Miss not the occasion by the forelock take that subtle power, the never-halting time.
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