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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
Well
Neither
Distress
Like
Sick
Hath
Creatures
Lover
Poet
Creature
Thoughts
Gentle
Though
Near
Unmanageable
Times
Lovers
Unruly
Wells
Fit
Fits

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How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold.
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Shalt show us how divine a thing A woman may be made.
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But trailing clouds of glory do we come, From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy!.
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But who shall parcel out His intellect by geometric rules, Split like a province into round and square?
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Oh, blank confusion! true epitome Of what the mighty City is herself, To thousands upon thousands of her sons, Living amid the same perpetual whirl Of trivial objects, melted and reduced To one identity.
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my brain Worked with a dim and undetermined sense Of unknown modes of being o'er my thoughts There hung a darkness, call it solitude Or blank desertion.
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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!
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Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.
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Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
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Truth takes no account of centuries.
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In years that bring the philosophic mind.
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Give all thou canst high Heaven rejects the lore of nicely-caluculated less or more.
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The mind of man is a thousand times more beautiful than the earth on which he dwells.
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We live by admiration, hope and love.
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