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But trailing clouds of glory do we come, From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy!.
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
Lying
Home
Trailing
Come
Eulogy
Infancy
Clouds
Glory
Lies
Heaven
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Delivered from the galling yoke of time.
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Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.
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Oft in my way have I stood still, though but a casual passenger, so much I felt the awfulness of life.
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The light that never was, on sea or land The consecration, and the Poet's dream.
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Spires whose silent finger points to heaven.
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Open-mindedness is the harvest of a quiet eye.
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Laying out grounds may be considered a liberal art, in some sort like poetry and painting.
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To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
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But who is innocent? By grace divine, Not otherwise,O Nature! we are thine.
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Like an army defeated the snow hath retreated.
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Meek Walton's heavenly memory.
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In modern business it is not the crook who is to be feared most, it is the honest man who doesn't know what he is doing.
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In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay Tribute to ease and, of its joy secure, The heart luxuriates with indifferent things, Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones, And on the vacant air.
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'Tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes!
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Minds that have nothing to confer Find little to perceive.
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Choice word and measured phrase above the reach Of ordinary men.
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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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To be young was very heaven!
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Sweet childish days, that were as long, As twenty days are now.
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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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