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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.

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
None
Dead
Force
Living
Apparitions
Ever
Falsely
Look
Ghosts
Looks
Intercourse
Way
Ghost

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Pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.
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A cheerful life is what the Muses love. A soaring spirit is their prime delight.
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I listened, motionless and still And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.
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If the time should ever come when what is now called Science, thus famliarised to men, shall be ready to put on, as it were, a form of flesh and blood, the Poet will lend his divine spirit to the aid the transfiguration, and will welcome the Being thus produced, as a dear and genuine inmate of the household of man.
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Ah, what a warning for a thoughtless man, Could field or grove, could any spot of earth, Show to his eye an image of the pangs Which it hath witnessed,-render back an echo Of the sad steps by which it hath been trod!
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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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Poetry is the outcome of emotions recollected in tranquility.
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And the most difficult of tasks to keep Heights which the soul is competent to gain.
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He spake of love, such love as spirits feel In worlds whose course is equable and pure No fears to beat away, no strife to heal,- The past unsighed for, and the future sure.
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We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.
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With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things.
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Laying out grounds may be considered a liberal art, in some sort like poetry and painting.
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That mighty orb of song, The divine Milton.
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Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none / Look up a second time, and, one by one, / You mark them twinkling out with silvery light, / And wonder how they could elude the sight!
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A power is passing from the earth.
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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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Stern daughter of the voice of God! O Duty! if that name thou love Who art a light to guide, a rod To check the erring and reprove.
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[Mathematics] is an independent world created out of pure intelligence.
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It is the 1st mild day of March. Each minute sweeter than before... there is a blessing in the air.
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Departing summer hath assumed An aspect tenderly illumed, The gentlest look of spring That calls from yonder leafy shade Unfaded, yet prepared to fade, A timely carolling.
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