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Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!
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
Strife
Glory
Hard
Great
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Bright flower! whose home is everywhere Bold in maternal nature's care And all the long year through the heir Of joy or sorrow, Methinks that there abides in thee Some concord with humanity, Given to no other flower I see The forest through.
William Wordsworth
Behold the Child among his new-born blisses A six years' Darling of a pigmy size! See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, With light upon him from his father's eyes! See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, Some fragment from his dream of human life, Shaped by himself with newly-learned art.
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Every great and original writer, in proportion as he is great and original, must himself create the taste by which he is to be relished.
William Wordsworth
One solace yet remains for us who came Into this world in days when story lacked Severe research, that in our hearts we know How, for exciting youth's heroic flame, Assent is power, belief the soul of fact.
William Wordsworth
No motion has she now, no force she neither hears nor sees rolled around in earth's diurnal course, with rocks, and stones, and trees.
William Wordsworth
Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
William Wordsworth
Great God! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn
William Wordsworth
The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration.
William Wordsworth
I should dread to disfigure the beautiful ideal of the memories of illustrious persons with incongruous features, and to sully the imaginative purity of classical works with gross and trivial recollections.
William Wordsworth
The Poet, gentle creature as he is, Hath, like the Lover, his unruly times His fits when he is neither sick nor well, Though no distress be near him but his own Unmanageable thoughts.
William Wordsworth
We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, When such are wanted.
William Wordsworth
Spires whose silent finger points to heaven.
William Wordsworth
Sweet is the lore which Nature brings Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things We murder to dissect. Enough of Science and of Art Close up these barren leaves Come forth, and bring with you a heart That watches and receives.
William Wordsworth
Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither.
William Wordsworth
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
William Wordsworth
Mark the babe not long accustomed to this breathing world One that hath barely learned to shape a smile, though yet irrational of soul, to grasp with tiny finger - to let fall a tear And, as the heavy cloud of sleep dissolves, To stretch his limbs, becoming, as might seem. The outward functions of intelligent man.
William Wordsworth
A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by One after one the sound of rain, and bees Murmuring the fall of rivers, winds and seas, Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky - I've thought of all by turns, and still I lie Sleepless.
William Wordsworth
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.
William Wordsworth
Let the moon shine on the in thy solitary walk and let the misty mountain-winds be free to blow against thee.
William Wordsworth
Sweet childish days, that were as long, As twenty days are now.
William Wordsworth
