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As generations come and go, Their arts, their customs, ebb and flow Fate, fortune, sweep strong powers away, And feeble, of themselves, decay.

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
Fate
Sweep
Generations
Feeble
Strong
Decay
Away
Customs
Art
Arts
Come
Powers
Fortune
Flow
Transience

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Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind--But how could I forget thee?
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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.
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A mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of Thought, alone.
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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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And the most difficult of tasks to keep Heights which the soul is competent to gain.
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the Mind of Man-- My haunt, and the main region of my song.
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Huge and mighty forms that do not live like living men, moved slowly through the mind by day and were trouble to my dreams.
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Wisdom married to immortal verse.
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Like an army defeated The snow hath retreated, And now doth fare ill On the top of the bare hill The Ploughboy is whooping — anon — anon! There's joy in the mountains: There's life in the fountains Small clouds are sailing, Blue sky prevailing The rain is over and gone.
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She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love.
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For by superior energies more strict affiance in each other faith more firm in their unhallowed principles, the bad have fairly earned a victory over the weak, the vacillating, inconsistent good.
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Life is divided into three terms - that which was, which is, and which will be. Let us learn from the past to profit by the present, and from the present, to live better in the future.
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If thou art beautiful, and youth and thought endue thee with all truth-be strong--be worthy of the grace of God.
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Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.
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Spade! Thou art a tool of honor in my hands. I press thee, through a yielding soil, with pride.
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Primroses, the Spring may love them Summer knows but little of them.
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A deep distress has humanised my soul.
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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting. Not in entire forgetfulness, and not in utter nakedness, but trailing clouds of glory do we come.
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A soul so pitiably forlorn, If such do on this earth abide, May season apathy with scorn, May turn indifference to pride And still be not unblest- compared With him who grovels, self-debarred From all that lies within the scope Of holy faith and christian hope Or, shipwrecked, kindles on the coast False fires, that others may be lost.
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