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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 daffodil is worth a thousand pleasures, then one is too few.
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It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the sea: Listen! the mighty being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thundereverlastingly.
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Wrongs unredressed, or insults unavenged.
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Recognizes ever and anon The breeze of Nature stirring in his soul.
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That to this mountain-daisy's self were known The beauty of its star-shaped shadow, thrown On the smooth surface of this naked stone!
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I am already kindly disposed towards you. My friendship it is not in my power to give: this is a gift which no man can make, it is not in our own power: a sound and healthy friendship is the growth of time and circumstance, it will spring up and thrive like a wildflower when these favour, and when they do not, it is in vain to look for it.
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Before us lay a painful road, And guidance have I sought in duteous love From Wisdom's heavenly Father. Hence hath flowed Patience, with trust that, whatsoe'er the way Each takes in this high matter, all may move Cheered with the prospect of a brighter day.
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Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.
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Turning, for them who pass, the common dust Of servile opportunity to gold.
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Golf is a day spent in a round of strenuous idleness.
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The earth was all before me. With a heart Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty, I look about and should the chosen guide Be nothing better than a wandering cloud, I cannot miss my way.
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How is it that you live, and what is it you do?
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And what if thou, sweet May, hast known Mishap by worm and blight If expectations newly blown Have perished in thy sight If loves and joys, while up they sprung, Were caught as in a snare Such is the lot of all the young, However bright and fair.
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Wisdom and spirit of the Universe!
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Rest and be thankful.
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Enough, if something from our hands have power To live, and act, and serve the future hour And if, as toward the silent tomb we go, Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower, We feel that we are greater than we know.
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my brain Worked with a dim and undetermined sense Of unknown modes of being o'er my thoughts There hung a darkness, call it solitude Or blank desertion.
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Alas! how little can a moment show Of an eye where feeling plays In ten thousand dewy rays: A face o'er which a thousand shadows go!
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A Briton even in love should be A subject, not a slave!
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A famous man is Robin Hood, The English ballad-singer's joy.
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