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The Eagle, he was lord above

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
Eagle
Eagles
Lord

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A great poet ought to a certain degree to rectify men's feelings... to render their feelings more sane, pure and permanent, in short, more consonant to Nature.
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Prompt to move but firm to wait - knowing things rashly sought are rarely found.
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Let Nature be your teacher
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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar.
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Rest and be thankful.
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Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
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A tale in everything.
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Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.
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Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower, We feel that we are greater than we know.
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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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The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.
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The wind, a sightless laborer, whistles at his task.
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Recognizes ever and anon The breeze of Nature stirring in his soul.
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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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When his veering gait And every motion of his starry train Seem governed by a strain Of music, audible to him alone.
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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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Not in Utopia, -- subterranean fields, --Or some secreted island, Heaven knows whereBut in the very world, which is the worldOf all of us, -- the place where in the endWe find our happiness, or not at all
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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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But who would force the soul tilts with a straw Against a champion cased in adamant
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I look for ghosts but none will force Their way to me. 'Tis falsely said That there was ever intercourse Between the living and the dead.
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