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His high endeavours are an inward light That makes the path before him always bright.
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
Always
Endeavours
Endeavour
Inward
Bright
Path
High
Makes
Light
More quotes by William Wordsworth
The soft blue sky did never melt Into his heart he never felt The witchery of the soft blue sky!
William Wordsworth
There is a luxury in self-dispraise And inward self-disparagement affords To meditative spleen a grateful feast.
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Mark the babe not long accustomed to this breathing world One that hath barely learned to shape a smile, though yet irrational of soul, to grasp with tiny finger - to let fall a tear And, as the heavy cloud of sleep dissolves, To stretch his limbs, becoming, as might seem. The outward functions of intelligent man.
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His love was like the liberal air, embracing all, to cheer and bless.
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Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice The confidence of reason give, And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live!
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She seemed a thing that could not feel the touch of earthly years.
William Wordsworth
Enough, if something from our hands have power To live, and act, and serve the future hour And if, as toward the silent tomb we go, Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower, We feel that we are greater than we know.
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...one interior life in which all beings live with God, themselves are God, existing in the mighty whole, indistinguishable as the cloudless east is from the cloudless west, when all the hemisphere is one cerulean blue.
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the Mind of Man-- My haunt, and the main region of my song.
William Wordsworth
When men change swords for ledgers, and desert The student's bower for gold, some fears unnamed I had, my Country--am I to be blamed?
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But thou that didst appear so fair To fond imagination, Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation.
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Thou has left behind Powers that will work for thee,-air, earth, and skies! There 's not a breathing of the common wind That will forget thee thou hast great allies Thy friends are exultations, agonies, And love, and man's unconquerable mind.
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Poetry is emotion recollected in tranquillity.
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Therefore am I still a lover of the meadows and the woods, and mountains and of all that we behold from this green earth.
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Pictures deface walls more often than they decorate them.
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Memories... images and precious thoughts that shall not die and cannot be destroyed.
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Great God! I'd rather be a Pagan.
William Wordsworth
Nor will I then thy modest grace forget, Chaste Snow-drop, venturous harbinger of Spring, And pensive monitor of fleeting years!
William Wordsworth
May books and nature be their early joy!
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Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns.
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