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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
Rooms
Fret
Hermits
Nun
Contented
Narrow
Cells
Spirituality
Convent
Room
Nuns
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Wisdom and Spirit of the universe! Thou soul, that art the eternity of thought, And giv'st to forms and images a breath And everlasting motion.
William Wordsworth
The feather, whence the pen Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men, Dropped from an angel's wing.
William Wordsworth
The streams with softest sound are flowing, The grass you almost hear it growing, You hear it now, if e'er you can.
William Wordsworth
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.
William Wordsworth
That best portion of a man's life, his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.
William Wordsworth
Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence.
William Wordsworth
Milton, thou should'st be living at this hour.
William Wordsworth
The clouds that gather round the setting sun, Do take a sober colouring from an eye, That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality.
William Wordsworth
As in the eye of Nature he has lived, So in the eye of Nature let him die!
William Wordsworth
Thou unassuming common-place of Nature, with that homely face.
William Wordsworth
Strongest minds are often those whom the noisy world hears least.
William Wordsworth
I look for ghosts but none will force Their way to me. 'Tis falsely said That there was ever intercourse Between the living and the dead.
William Wordsworth
Sweet is the lore which Nature brings Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things: We murder to dissect.
William Wordsworth
Take the sweet poetry of life away, and what remains behind?
William Wordsworth
The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, That no philosophy can lift.
William Wordsworth
And when the stream Which overflowed the soul was passed away, A consciousness remained that it had left Deposited upon the silent shore Of memory images and precious thoughts That shall not die, and cannot be destroyed.
William Wordsworth
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain That has been, and may be again.
William Wordsworth
The child shall become father to the man.
William Wordsworth
No motion has she now, no force she neither hears nor sees rolled around in earth's diurnal course, with rocks, and stones, and trees.
William Wordsworth
The mind that is wise mourns less for what age takes away than what it leaves behind.
William Wordsworth
