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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
Remembers
Doth
Joy
Nature
Remember
Live
Something
Embers
Fugitive
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The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, burn to the socket.
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And mighty poets in their misery dead.
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The sunshine is a glorious birth But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.
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All that we behold is full of blessings.
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A man he seems of cheerful yesterdays And confident tomorrows.
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That to this mountain-daisy's self were known The beauty of its star-shaped shadow, thrown On the smooth surface of this naked stone!
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Great God! I'd rather be a Pagan.
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Oh, be wise, Thou! Instructed that true knowledge leads to love.
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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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Of friends, however humble, scorn not one.
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Milton, thou should'st be living at this hour.
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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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The best of what we do and are, Just God, forgive!
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A few strong instincts and a few plain rules.
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Poetry is emotion recollected in tranquillity.
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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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A simple child. That lightly draws its breath. And feels its life in every limb. What should it know of death?
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Two voices are there one is of the sea, One of the mountains: each a mighty Voice.
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Chains tie us down by land and sea And wishes, vain as mine, may be All that is left to comfort thee.
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The budding rose above the rose full blown.
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