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The first cuckoo's melancholy cry.

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
Cuckoo
Cuckoos
Melancholy
Cry
Firsts
First

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Laying out grounds... may be considered as a liberal art, in some sort like poetry and painting.... it is to assist Nature in moving the affections... the affections of those who have the deepest perception of the beauty of Nature.
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The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.
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Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive But to be young was very heaven.
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When from our better selves we have too long been parted by the hurrying world, and droop. Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, how gracious, how benign is solitude.
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I, methought, while the sweet breath of heaven Was blowing on my body, felt within A correspondent breeze, that gently moved With quickening virtue, but is now become A tempest, a redundant energy, Vexing its own creation.
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How is it that you live, and what is it you do?
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Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep/ Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind.
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A genial hearth, a hospitable board, and a refined rusticity.
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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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Truths that wake To perish never
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That kill the bloom before its time, And blanch, without the owner's crime, The most resplendent hair.
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A babe, by intercourse of touch I held mute dialogues with my Mother's heart.
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But He is risen, a later star of dawn.
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Miss not the occasion by the forelock take that subtle power, the never-halting time.
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But who is innocent? By grace divine, Not otherwise,O Nature! we are thine.
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