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Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretch'd in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
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
Never
Saws
Stretch
Daffodil
Line
Shine
Tossing
Along
Ending
Milky
Thousand
Heads
Margin
Lines
Shining
Glance
Stars
Ten
Margins
Space
Dance
Glances
Sprightly
Way
Flower
Continuous
Twinkle
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Hope smiled when your nativity was cast, Children of Summer!
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That mighty orb of song, The divine Milton.
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I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills When all at once I saw a crowd A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake beneath the trees Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
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The intellectual power, through words and things, Went sounding on a dim and perilous way!
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A tale in everything.
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Elysian beauty, melancholy grace, Brought from a pensive though a happy place.
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The Eagle, he was lord above
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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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He loves not well whose love is bold! I would not have thee come too nigh. The sun's gold would not seem pure gold Unless the sun were in the sky: To take him thence and chain him near Would make his beauty disappear. William Winter, Love's Queen. The unconquerable pang of despised love.
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But who would force the soul tilts with a straw Against a champion cased in adamant
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O dearer far than light and life are dear.
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We have within ourselves Enough to fill the present day with joy, And overspread the future years with hope.
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Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive But to be young was very heaven.
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What is good for a bootless bene? With these dark words begins my tale And their meaning is, Whence can comfort spring When prayer is of no avail?
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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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The thought of our past years in me doth breed perpetual benedictions.
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Sad fancies do we then affect, In luxury of disrespect To our own prodigal excess Of too familiar happiness.
William Wordsworth
One impulse from a vernal wood
William Wordsworth
In heaven above, And earth below, they best can serve true gladness Who meet most feelingly the calls of sadness.
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The Rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the Rose.
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