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And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man.

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
Grieved
Heart
Much
Made
Men
Think
Thinking

More quotes by William Wordsworth

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Not Chaos, not the darkest pit of lowest Erebus, nor aught of blinder vacancy, scooped out by help of dreams - can breed such fear and awe as fall upon us often when we look into our Minds, into the Mind of Man.
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Take the sweet poetry of life away, and what remains behind?
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The first cuckoo's melancholy cry.
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For nature then to me was all in all.
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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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There is One great society alone on earth: The noble living and the noble dead.
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Before us lay a painful road, And guidance have I sought in duteous love From Wisdom's heavenly Father. Hence hath flowed Patience, with trust that, whatsoe'er the way Each takes in this high matter, all may move Cheered with the prospect of a brighter day.
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I listened, motionless and still And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.
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That blessed mood in which the burthen of the mystery, in which the heavy and the weary weight of all this unintelligible world is lightened.
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Plain living and high thinking are no more.
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Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep/ Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind.
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The child is father of the man.
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Stern daughter of the voice of God! O Duty! if that name thou love Who art a light to guide, a rod To check the erring and reprove.
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Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive But to be young was very heaven.
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May books and nature be their early joy!
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Where the statue stood Of Newton, with his prism and silent face, The marble index of a mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of thought alone.
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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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One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can.
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Books! tis a dull and endless strife: Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music! on my life, There's more of wisdom in it.
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The daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.
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