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The moving accident is not my trade To freeze the blood I have no ready arts: 'Tis my delight, alone in summer shade, To pipe a simple song for thinking hearts.
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
Thinking
Ready
Accident
Blood
Shade
Alone
Accidents
Simple
Arts
Moving
Delight
Song
Hearts
Art
Summer
Freeze
Heart
Trade
Pipe
More quotes by William Wordsworth
The soft blue sky did never melt Into his heart he never felt The witchery of the soft blue sky!
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Like an army defeated the snow hath retreated.
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The common growth of Mother Earth Suffices me,-her tears, her mirth, Her humblest mirth and tears.
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The silence that is in the starry sky, / The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
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Far from the world I walk, and from all care.
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The fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world Have hung upon the beatings of my heart.
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in the mind of man, A motion and a spirit, that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things.
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There is One great society alone on earth: The noble living and the noble dead.
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She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be But she is in her grave, and oh The difference to me!
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The ocean is a mighty harmonist.
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Lady of the Mere, Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance.
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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 light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove.
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I listened, motionless and still And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.
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The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration.
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And when a damp Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand The thing became a trumpet whence he blew Soul-animating strains,-alas! too few.
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Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will Dear God! the very houses seem asleep And all that mighty heart is lying still!
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The childhood of today is the manhood of tomorrow
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The child is the father of man.
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He who feels contempt for any living thing hath faculties that he hath never used, and thought with him is in its infancy.
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