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Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence.

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
Moments
Seems
Years
Noisy
Eternal
Seem
Silence

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She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be But she is in her grave, and oh The difference to me!
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The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, An appetite a feeling and a love that had no need of a remoter charm by thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.
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Sweet childish days, that were as long, As twenty days are now.
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And he is oft the wisest manWho is not wise at all.
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Faith is, necessary to explain anything, and to reconcile the foreknowledge of God with human evil.
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And the most difficult of tasks to keep Heights which the soul is competent to gain.
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Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies, Let them live upon their praises.
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What is good for a bootless bene? With these dark words begins my tale And their meaning is, Whence can comfort spring When prayer is of no avail?
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Pictures deface walls more often than they decorate them.
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Whom neither shape of danger can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray.
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Like an army defeated the snow hath retreated.
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Every gift of noble origin Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath.
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Memories... images and precious thoughts that shall not die and cannot be destroyed.
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Dreams, books, are each a world.
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Those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realised, High instincts before which our mortal Nature Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised
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I am already kindly disposed towards you. My friendship it is not in my power to give: this is a gift which no man can make, it is not in our own power: a sound and healthy friendship is the growth of time and circumstance, it will spring up and thrive like a wildflower when these favour, and when they do not, it is in vain to look for it.
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Love betters what is best
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Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive But to be young was very heaven.
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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting. Not in entire forgetfulness, and not in utter nakedness, but trailing clouds of glory do we come.
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Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain That has been, and may be again.
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