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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
Melodies
Sweetest
Melody
Distance
Sweet
Music
Made

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Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive But to be young was very heaven.
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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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Look at the fate of summer flowers, which blow at daybreak, droop ere even-song.
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I, methought, while the sweet breath of heaven Was blowing on my body, felt within A correspondent breeze, that gently moved With quickening virtue, but is now become A tempest, a redundant energy, Vexing its own creation.
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In heaven above, And earth below, they best can serve true gladness Who meet most feelingly the calls of sadness.
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The soft blue sky did never melt Into his heart he never felt The witchery of the soft blue sky!
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Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge it is the impassioned expression which is in the countenance of all Science
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And the most difficult of tasks to keep Heights which the soul is competent to gain.
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And homeless near a thousand homes I stood, And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.
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Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves Of their bad influence, and their good receives.
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I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy, The sleepless soul that perished in his pride Of him who walked in glory and in joy, Following his plough, along the mountain-side. By our own spirits we are deified We Poets in our youth begin in gladness, But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
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Like an army defeated the snow hath retreated.
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For by superior energies more strict affiance in each other faith more firm in their unhallowed principles, the bad have fairly earned a victory over the weak, the vacillating, inconsistent good.
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But who shall parcel out His intellect by geometric rules, Split like a province into round and square?
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In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay Tribute to ease and, of its joy secure, The heart luxuriates with indifferent things, Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones, And on the vacant air.
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Dust as we are, the immortal spirit grows Like harmony in music there is a dark Inscrutable workmanship that reconciles Discordant elements, makes them cling together In one society.
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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.
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O dearer far than light and life are dear.
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The budding rose above the rose full blown.
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Strongest minds are often those whom the noisy world hears least.
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