Quote

The softest breeze to fairest flowers gives birth: Think not that Prudence dwells in dark abodes, She scans the future with the eye of gods.

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
Eye
Breeze
Giving
Flowers
Abodes
Think
Gods
Scans
Flower
Softest
Thinking
Birth
Fairest
Gives
Abode
Dark
Dwells
Future
Prudence

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Bright was the summer's noon when quickening steps Followed each other till a dreary moor Was crossed, a bare ridge clomb, upon whose top Standing alone, as from a rampart's edge, I overlooked the bed of Windermere, Like a vast river, stretching in the sun.
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Either still I find Some imperfection in the chosen theme, Or see of absolute accomplishment Much wanting, so much wanting, in myself, That I recoil and droop, and seek repose In listlessness from vain perplexity, Unprofitably travelling towards the grave.
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And mighty poets in their misery dead.
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How many undervalue the power of simplicity ! But it is the real key to the heart.
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The clouds that gather round the setting sun, Do take a sober colouring from an eye, That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality.
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Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves Of their bad influence, and their good receives.
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Imagination is the means of deep insight and sympathy, the power to conceive and express images removed from normal objective reality.
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This City now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie Open unto the fields and to the sky All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
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Oh, blank confusion! true epitome Of what the mighty City is herself, To thousands upon thousands of her sons, Living amid the same perpetual whirl Of trivial objects, melted and reduced To one identity.
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Dreams, books, are each a world and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good: Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow.
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Books are yours, Within whose silent chambers treasure lies Preserved from age to age more precious far Than that accumulated store of gold And orient gems, which, for a day of need, The Sultan hides deep in ancestral tombs. These hoards of truth you can unlock at will.
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Therefore am I still a lover of the meadows and the woods, and mountains and of all that we behold from this green earth.
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Men who can hear the Decalogue, and feel To self-reproach.
William Wordsworth
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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 childhood of today is the manhood of tomorrow
William Wordsworth
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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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In years that bring the philosophic mind.
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There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream.
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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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My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began So is it now I am a man So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The Child is father of the Man I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.
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