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Science appears but what in truth she is, Not as our glory and our absolute boast, But as a succedaneum, and a prop To our infirmity.

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
Absolute
Glory
Science
Prop
Truth
Infirmity
Props
Boast
Appears
Absolutes

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Hearing often-times the still, sad music of humanity, nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power to chasten and subdue.
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Golf is a day spent in a round of strenuous idleness.
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Sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart.
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That best portion of a man's life, his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.
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Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind--But how could I forget thee?
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Stern daughter of the voice of God! O Duty! if that name thou love Who art a light to guide, a rod To check the erring and reprove.
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A tale in everything.
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Serene will be our days, and bright and happy will our nature be, when love is an unerring light, and joy its own security.
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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.
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There is creation in the eye.
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Wisdom and spirit of the Universe!
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Sweet childish days, that were as long, As twenty days are now.
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The thought of our past years in me doth breed perpetual benedictions.
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Either still I find Some imperfection in the chosen theme, Or see of absolute accomplishment Much wanting, so much wanting, in myself, That I recoil and droop, and seek repose In listlessness from vain perplexity, Unprofitably travelling towards the grave.
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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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Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade Of that which once was great is passed away.
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