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O joy! that in our embers Is something that doth live, That nature yet remembers What was so fugitive!
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
Fugitive
Remembers
Doth
Joy
Nature
Remember
Live
Something
Embers
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Wrongs unredressed, or insults unavenged.
William Wordsworth
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.
William Wordsworth
Tis said, fantastic ocean doth enfold The likeness of whate'er on land is seen.
William Wordsworth
To be a Prodigal's favourite,-then, worse truth, A Miser's pensioner,-behold our lot!
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The light that never was, on sea or land The consecration, and the Poet's dream.
William Wordsworth
All that we behold is full of blessings.
William Wordsworth
And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love.
William Wordsworth
He loves not well whose love is bold! I would not have thee come too nigh. The sun's gold would not seem pure gold Unless the sun were in the sky: To take him thence and chain him near Would make his beauty disappear. William Winter, Love's Queen. The unconquerable pang of despised love.
William Wordsworth
Wisdom and Spirit of the universe! Thou soul, that art the eternity of thought, And giv'st to forms and images a breath And everlasting motion.
William Wordsworth
But an old age serene and bright, and lovely as a Lapland night, shall lead thee to thy grave.
William Wordsworth
Of friends, however humble, scorn not one.
William Wordsworth
The wind, a sightless laborer, whistles at his task.
William Wordsworth
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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Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While 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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And what if thou, sweet May, hast known Mishap by worm and blight If expectations newly blown Have perished in thy sight If loves and joys, while up they sprung, Were caught as in a snare Such is the lot of all the young, However bright and fair.
William Wordsworth
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns.
William Wordsworth
And mighty poets in their misery dead.
William Wordsworth
Those old credulities, to Nature dear, Shall they no longer bloom upon the stock Of history?
William Wordsworth
Whom neither shape of danger can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray.
William Wordsworth
Often have I sighed to measure By myself a lonely pleasure,- Sighed to think I read a book, Only read, perhaps, by me.
William Wordsworth
