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The Poet, gentle creature as he is, Hath, like the Lover, his unruly times His fits when he is neither sick nor well, Though no distress be near him but his own Unmanageable thoughts.
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
Creatures
Lover
Poet
Creature
Thoughts
Gentle
Though
Near
Unmanageable
Times
Lovers
Unruly
Wells
Fit
Fits
Well
Neither
Distress
Like
Sick
Hath
More quotes by William Wordsworth
The sightless Milton, with his hair Around his placid temples curled And Shakespeare at his side,-a freight, If clay could think and mind were weight, For him who bore the world!
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Knowing that Nature never did betray the heart that loved her 'tis her privilege, through all the years of this our life, to lead from joy to joy.
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Like thoughts whose very sweetness yielded proof that they were born for immortality.
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While all the future, for thy purer soul, With sober certainties of love is blest.
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The child is father of the man.
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Since thy return, through days and weeks Of hope that grew by stealth, How many wan and faded cheeks Have kindled into health! The Old, by thee revived, have said, 'Another year is ours' And wayworn Wanderers, poorly fed, Have smiled upon thy flowers.
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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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Pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.
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Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour Have passed away less happy than the one That by the unwilling ploughshare died to prove The tender charm of poetry and love.
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When his veering gait And every motion of his starry train Seem governed by a strain Of music, audible to him alone.
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Great God! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn
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Milton, in his hand The thing became a trumpet
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Prompt to move but firm to wait - knowing things rashly sought are rarely found.
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Serene will be our days, and bright and happy will our nature be, when love is an unerring light, and joy its own security.
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Long as there's a sun that sets, Primroses will have their glory Long as there are violets, They will have a place in story: There's a flower that shall be mine, 'Tis the little Celandine.
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One that would peep and botanize Upon his mother's grave.
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How is it that you live, and what is it you do?
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Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns.
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Hope smiled when your nativity was cast, Children of Summer!
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Shalt show us how divine a thing A woman may be made.
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