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We have within ourselves Enough to fill the present day with joy, And overspread the future years with hope.

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
Fill
Joy
Present
Within
Future
Hope
Enough
Years

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One with more of soul in his face than words on his tongue.
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I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts a sense sublime of something far more deeply interfused, whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, and the round ocean, and the living air, and the blue sky, and in the mind of man.
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Tis said, fantastic ocean doth enfold The likeness of whate'er on land is seen.
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I'm not talking about a show me other walls of this thing button, I mean a stumble button for wallbase.
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Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain That has been, and may be again.
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Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.
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He spake of love, such love as spirits feel In worlds whose course is equable and pure No fears to beat away, no strife to heal,- The past unsighed for, and the future sure.
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Mark the babe not long accustomed to this breathing world One that hath barely learned to shape a smile, though yet irrational of soul, to grasp with tiny finger - to let fall a tear And, as the heavy cloud of sleep dissolves, To stretch his limbs, becoming, as might seem. The outward functions of intelligent man.
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Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower.
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But hushed be every thought that springs From out the bitterness of things.
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With battlements that on their restless fronts Bore stars.
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Look at the fate of summer flowers, which blow at daybreak, droop ere even-song.
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But thou that didst appear so fair To fond imagination, Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation.
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That inward eye/ Which is the bliss of solitude.
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These hoards of wealth you can unlock at will.
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My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began So is it now I am a man.
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A babe, by intercourse of touch I held mute dialogues with my Mother's heart.
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Two voices are there one is of the sea, One of the mountains: each a mighty Voice.
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The intellectual power, through words and things, Went sounding on a dim and perilous way!
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Books are the best type of the influence of the past.
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