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Pleasures newly found are sweet When they lie about our feet.

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
Newly
Pleasures
Sweet
Feet
Pleasure
Lying
Found

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A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard... Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.
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Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade Of that which once was great is passed away.
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How fast has brother followed brother, From sunshine to the sunless land!
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Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!
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How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold.
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Often have I sighed to measure By myself a lonely pleasure,- Sighed to think I read a book, Only read, perhaps, by me.
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Careless of books, yet having felt the power Of Nature, by the gentle agency Of natural objects, led me on to feel For passions that were not my own, and think (At random and imperfectly indeed) On man, the heart of man, and human life.
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Milton, in his hand The thing became a trumpet
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These hoards of wealth you can unlock at will.
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Prompt to move but firm to wait - knowing things rashly sought are rarely found.
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In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind.
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The child is father of the man.
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Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee! . . . . . . Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart: So didst thou travel on life's common way In cheerful godliness.
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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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Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain That has been, and may be again.
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Nature's old felicities.
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Habit rules the unreflecting herd.
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