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Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room And hermits are contented with their cells.
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
Nun
Contented
Narrow
Cells
Spirituality
Convent
Room
Nuns
Rooms
Fret
Hermits
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Thou has left behind Powers that will work for thee,-air, earth, and skies! There 's not a breathing of the common wind That will forget thee thou hast great allies Thy friends are exultations, agonies, And love, and man's unconquerable mind.
William Wordsworth
By happy chance we saw A twofold image: on a grassy bank A snow-white ram, and in the crystal flood Another and the same!
William Wordsworth
For all things are less dreadful than they seem.
William Wordsworth
Plain living and high thinking are no more.
William Wordsworth
By all means sometimes be alone salute thyself see what thy soul doth wear dare to look in thy chest and tumble up and down what thou findest there.
William Wordsworth
A Primrose by a river's brim A yellow primrose was to him And it was something more.
William Wordsworth
Whom neither shape of danger can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray.
William Wordsworth
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind--But how could I forget thee?
William Wordsworth
But who shall parcel out His intellect by geometric rules, Split like a province into round and square?
William Wordsworth
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.
William Wordsworth
The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone
William Wordsworth
In ourselves our safety must be sought. By our own right hand it must be wrought.
William Wordsworth
Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.
William Wordsworth
Worse than idle is compassion if it ends in tears and sighs.
William Wordsworth
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.
William Wordsworth
Books are yours, Within whose silent chambers treasure lies Preserved from age to age more precious far Than that accumulated store of gold And orient gems, which, for a day of need, The Sultan hides deep in ancestral tombs. These hoards of truth you can unlock at will.
William Wordsworth
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.
William Wordsworth
That mighty orb of song, The divine Milton.
William Wordsworth
His love was like the liberal air, embracing all, to cheer and bless.
William Wordsworth
Therefore am I still a lover of the meadows and the woods, and mountains and of all that we behold from this green earth.
William Wordsworth
