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In heaven above, And earth below, they best can serve true gladness Who meet most feelingly the calls of sadness.
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
Heaven
True
Feelingly
Earth
Gladness
Best
Calls
Sadness
Serve
Sorrow
Meet
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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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Ah, what a warning for a thoughtless man, Could field or grove, could any spot of earth, Show to his eye an image of the pangs Which it hath witnessed,-render back an echo Of the sad steps by which it hath been trod!
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In modern business it is not the crook who is to be feared most, it is the honest man who doesn't know what he is doing.
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The silence that is in the starry sky, / The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
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Dreams, books, are each a world and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good: Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow.
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Happier of happy though I be, like them I cannot take possession of the sky, mount with a thoughtless impulse, and wheel there, one of a mighty multitude whose way and motion is a harmony and dance magnificent.
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A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
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Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive But to be young was very heaven.
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Men who can hear the Decalogue, and feel To self-reproach.
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One of those heavenly days that cannot die.
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A power is passing from the earth.
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The Eagle, he was lord above
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That inward eye/ Which is the bliss of solitude.
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A multitude of causes unknown to former times are now acting with a combined force to blunt the discriminating powers of the mind, and unfitting it for all voluntary exertion to reduce it to a state of almost savage torpor.
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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.
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But who is innocent? By grace divine, Not otherwise,O Nature! we are thine.
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To the solid ground Of nature trusts the Mind that builds for aye.
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