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As high as we have mounted in delight, In our dejection do we sink as low.

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
Lows
Delight
High
Change
Dejection
Mounted
Sink

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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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A man he seems of cheerful yesterdays And confident tomorrows.
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The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, burn to the socket.
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Habit rules the unreflecting herd.
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For nature then to me was all in all.
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The oldest man he seemed that ever wore grey hairs.
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Great God! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn
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Small service is true service, while it lasts.
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