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Tis not in battles that from youth we train The Governor who must be wise and good, And temper with the sternness of the brain Thoughts motherly, and meek as womanhood.
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
Youth
Womanhood
Thoughts
Meek
Wise
Battles
Brain
Governor
Must
Governors
Good
Temper
Train
Sternness
Battle
Motherly
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Sweet is the lore which Nature brings Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things: We murder to dissect.
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Stop thinking for once in your life!
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The mind that is wise mourns less for what age takes away than what it leaves behind.
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Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower.
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We must be free or die, who speak the tongue That Shakespeare spake the faith and morals hold Which Milton held.
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Like an army defeated The snow hath retreated, And now doth fare ill On the top of the bare hill The Ploughboy is whooping — anon — anon! There's joy in the mountains: There's life in the fountains Small clouds are sailing, Blue sky prevailing The rain is over and gone.
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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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Laying out grounds may be considered a liberal art, in some sort like poetry and painting.
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Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky! Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound? Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground?
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Since thy return, through days and weeks Of hope that grew by stealth, How many wan and faded cheeks Have kindled into health! The Old, by thee revived, have said, 'Another year is ours' And wayworn Wanderers, poorly fed, Have smiled upon thy flowers.
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That though the radiance which was once so bright be now forever taken from my sight. Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, glory in the flower. We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.
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The common growth of Mother Earth Suffices me,-her tears, her mirth, Her humblest mirth and tears.
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Miss not the occasion by the forelock take that subtle power, the never-halting time.
William Wordsworth
There is creation in the eye.
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Minds that have nothing to confer Find little to perceive.
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Wisdom married to immortal verse.
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Fear is a cloak which old men huddle about their love, as if to keep it warm.
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The monumental pomp of age Was with this goodly personage A stature undepressed in size, Unbent, which rather seemed to rise In open victory o'er the weight Of seventy years, to loftier height.
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He who feels contempt for any living thing hath faculties that he hath never used, and thought with him is in its infancy.
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The gods approve The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul.
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