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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

More quotes by William Wordsworth

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Happier of happy though I be, like them I cannot take possession of the sky, mount with a thoughtless impulse, and wheel there, one of a mighty multitude whose way and motion is a harmony and dance magnificent.
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The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, That no philosophy can lift.
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The daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.
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Faith is a passionate intuition.
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Recognizes ever and anon The breeze of Nature stirring in his soul.
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Like thoughts whose very sweetness yielded proof that they were born for immortality.
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The intellectual power, through words and things, Went sounding on a dim and perilous way!
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Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns.
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On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life, Musing in solitude, I oft perceive Fair trains of images before me rise, Accompanied by feelings of delight Pure, or with no unpleasing sadness mixed.
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Of friends, however humble, scorn not one.
William Wordsworth
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Behold the Child among his new-born blisses A six years' Darling of a pigmy size! See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, With light upon him from his father's eyes! See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, Some fragment from his dream of human life, Shaped by himself with newly-learned art.
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The best of what we do and are, Just God, forgive!
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The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone
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Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep/ Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind.
William Wordsworth
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My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began So is it now I am a man So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The Child is father of the Man I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.
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Rapt into still communion that transcends The imperfect offices of prayer and praise, His mind was a thanksgiving to the power That made him it was blessedness and love!
William Wordsworth
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We murder to dissect.
William Wordsworth
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Sweet is the lore which Nature brings Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things We murder to dissect. Enough of Science and of Art Close up these barren leaves Come forth, and bring with you a heart That watches and receives.
William Wordsworth
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A power is passing from the earth.
William Wordsworth
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My apprehension comes in crowds, I dread the rustling of the grass, The very shadows of the clouds, Have power to shake me as they pass, I question things and do not find, one that will answer to my mind, And all the world appears unkind.
William Wordsworth