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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
Two voices are there one is of the sea, One of the mountains: each a mighty Voice.
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To be young was very heaven!
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The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, An appetite a feeling and a love that had no need of a remoter charm by thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.
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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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How many undervalue the power of simplicity ! But it is the real key to the heart.
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The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone
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For youthful faults ripe virtues shall atone.
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By happy chance we saw A twofold image: on a grassy bank A snow-white ram, and in the crystal flood Another and the same!
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One with more of soul in his face than words on his tongue.
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O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird, Or but a wandering voice?
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A cheerful life is what the Muses love. A soaring spirit is their prime delight.
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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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Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind--But how could I forget thee?
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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
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In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind.
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My apprehension comes in crowds, I dread the rustling of the grass, The very shadows of the clouds, Have power to shake me as they pass, I question things and do not find, one that will answer to my mind, And all the world appears unkind.
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Wisdom sits with children round her knees.
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Whether we be young or old,Our destiny, our being's heart and home,Is with infinitude, and only thereWith hope it is, hope that can never die,Effort and expectation, and desire,And something evermore about to be.
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Who, doomed to go in company with Pain And Fear and Bloodshed,-miserable train!- Turns his necessity to glorious gain.
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In years that bring the philosophic mind.
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