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Yon foaming flood seems motionless as iceIts dizzy turbulence eludes the eye,Frozen by distance.

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
Flood
Ice
Foaming
Distance
Eludes
Eye
Motionless
Seems
Turbulence
Elude
Dizzy
Frozen

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My apprehension comes in crowds, I dread the rustling of the grass, The very shadows of the clouds, Have power to shake me as they pass, I question things and do not find, one that will answer to my mind, And all the world appears unkind.
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Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will Dear God! the very houses seem asleep And all that mighty heart is lying still!
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Wisdom married to immortal verse.
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We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.
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Let the moon shine on the in thy solitary walk and let the misty mountain-winds be free to blow against thee.
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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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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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Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed Their snow-white blossoms on my head, With brightest sunshine round me spread Of spring's unclouded weather, In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard-seat! And birds and flowers once more to greet, My last year's friends together.
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There is a luxury in self-dispraise And inward self-disparagement affords To meditative spleen a grateful feast.
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Often have I sighed to measure By myself a lonely pleasure,- Sighed to think I read a book, Only read, perhaps, by me.
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Society became my glittering bride, And airy hopes my children.
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A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard... Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.
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And through the heat of conflict keeps the law In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw.
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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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Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain That has been, and may be again.
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I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, wherever nature led.
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Sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart.
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For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.
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The silence that is in the starry sky, / The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
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...one interior life in which all beings live with God, themselves are God, existing in the mighty whole, indistinguishable as the cloudless east is from the cloudless west, when all the hemisphere is one cerulean blue.
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