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Sweetest melodies.Are those that are by distance made more sweet.

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
Made
Melodies
Sweetest
Melody
Distance
Sweet
Music

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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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The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, burn to the socket.
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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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We live by admiration, hope and love.
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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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Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade Of that which once was great is passed away.
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To the solid ground Of nature trusts the Mind that builds for aye.
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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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She seemed a thing that could not feel the touch of earthly years.
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At length the man perceives it die away, And fade into the light of common day.
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Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters.
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Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour Have passed away less happy than the one That by the unwilling ploughshare died to prove The tender charm of poetry and love.
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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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How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold.
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Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice The confidence of reason give, And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live!
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Death is the quiet haven of us all.
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As high as we have mounted in delight, In our dejection do we sink as low.
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The earth was all before me. With a heart Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty, I look about and should the chosen guide Be nothing better than a wandering cloud, I cannot miss my way.
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Alas! how little can a moment show Of an eye where feeling plays In ten thousand dewy rays: A face o'er which a thousand shadows go!
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Imagination, which in truth Is but another name for absolute power And clearest insight, amplitude of mind, And reason, in her most exalted mood.
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