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Provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke.

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
Yoke
Provoking
Inevitable
Bring
Years
Provoke

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The tears into his eyes were brought, And thanks and praises seemed to run So fast out of his heart, I thought They never would have done. -I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds With coldness still returning Alas! the gratitude of men Hath oftener left me mourning.
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The flower that smells the sweetest is shy and lowly.
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Free as a bird to settle where I will.
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Neither evil tongues, rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all the dreary intercourse of daily life, shall ever prevail against us.
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Laying out grounds... may be considered as a liberal art, in some sort like poetry and painting.... it is to assist Nature in moving the affections... the affections of those who have the deepest perception of the beauty of Nature.
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Huge and mighty forms that do not live like living men, moved slowly through the mind by day and were trouble to my dreams.
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To character and success, two things, contradictory as they may seem, must go together... humble dependence on God and manly reliance on self.
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But how can he expect that others should Build for him, sow for him, and at his call Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all?
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Of friends, however humble, scorn not one.
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Every great and original writer, in proportion as he is great and original, must himself create the taste by which he is to be relished.
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But hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity.
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Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence.
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Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky! Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound? Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground?
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poetry is the breath and finer spirit of knowledge
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In ourselves our safety must be sought. By our own right hand it must be wrought.
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A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
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In spite of difference of soil and climate, of language and manners, of laws and customs-in spite of things silently gone out of mind, and things violently destroyed, the Poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society, as it is spread over the whole earth, and over all time.
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Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And, even with something of a mother's mind, And no unworthy aim, The homely nurse doth all she can To make her foster child, her inmate man, Forget the glories he hath known And that imperial palace whence he came.
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