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A babe, by intercourse of touch I held mute dialogues with my Mother's heart.
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
Touch
Mother
Heart
Dialogues
Mute
Babe
Intercourse
Dialogue
Held
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke.
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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.
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We live by admiration, hope and love.
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A genial hearth, a hospitable board, and a refined rusticity.
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Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves Of their bad influence, and their good receives.
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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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In ourselves our safety must be sought. By our own right hand it must be wrought.
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The daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.
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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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The budding rose above the rose full blown.
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For youthful faults ripe virtues shall atone.
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Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence.
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With battlements that on their restless fronts Bore stars.
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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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As in the eye of Nature he has lived, So in the eye of Nature let him die!
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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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Blessings be with them, and eternal praise, Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares!- The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays.
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Hearing often-times the still, sad music of humanity, nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power to chasten and subdue.
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A few strong instincts and a few plain rules.
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For mightier far Than strength of nerve or sinew, or the sway Of magic potent over sun and star, Is love, though oft to agony distrest, And though his favourite be feeble woman's breast.
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