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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
Endeavour
Inward
Bright
Path
High
Makes
Light
Always
Endeavours
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Plain living and high thinking are no more. The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone our peace, our fearful innocence, And pure religion breathing household laws.
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That mighty orb of song, The divine Milton.
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Those old credulities, to Nature dear, Shall they no longer bloom upon the stock Of history?
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Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind--But how could I forget thee?
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We live by Admiration, Hope, and Love And, even as these are well and wisely fixed, In dignity of being we ascend.
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Brothers all In honour, as in one community, Scholars and gentlemen.
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Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close upon the growing boy.
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Turning, for them who pass, the common dust Of servile opportunity to gold.
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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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Let Nature be your teacher
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It is the 1st mild day of March. Each minute sweeter than before... there is a blessing in the air.
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Tis not in battles that from youth we train The Governor who must be wise and good, And temper with the sternness of the brain Thoughts motherly, and meek as womanhood.
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We bow our heads before Thee, and we laud, And magnify thy name Almighty God! But man is thy most awful instrument, In working out a pure intent.
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Bright was the summer's noon when quickening steps Followed each other till a dreary moor Was crossed, a bare ridge clomb, upon whose top Standing alone, as from a rampart's edge, I overlooked the bed of Windermere, Like a vast river, stretching in the sun.
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The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.
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Small service is true service, while it lasts.
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Love betters what is best
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Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee! . . . . . . Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart: So didst thou travel on life's common way In cheerful godliness.
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Babylon, Learned and wise, hath perished utterly, Nor leaves her speech one word to aid the sigh That would lament her.
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Rapt into still communion that transcends The imperfect offices of prayer and praise, His mind was a thanksgiving to the power That made him it was blessedness and love!
William Wordsworth
