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Primroses, the Spring may love them Summer knows but little of them.

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
Love
Summer
Spring
Littles
May
Little

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My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.
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But to a higher mark than song can reach, Rose this pure eloquence.
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But trailing clouds of glory do we come, From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy!.
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Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
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He murmurs near the running brooks A music sweeter than their own.
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Brothers all In honour, as in one community, Scholars and gentlemen.
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And when the stream Which overflowed the soul was passed away, A consciousness remained that it had left Deposited upon the silent shore Of memory images and precious thoughts That shall not die, and cannot be destroyed.
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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.
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The education of circumstances is superior to that of tuition.
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His high endeavours are an inward light That makes the path before him always bright.
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What is good for a bootless bene? With these dark words begins my tale And their meaning is, Whence can comfort spring When prayer is of no avail?
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To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
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Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit, and play with similes, Loose type of things through all degrees.
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And now I see with eye serene, The very pulse of the machine. A being breathing thoughtful breaths, A traveler between life and death.
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She was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight, A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament Her eyes as stars of twilight fair, Like twilights too her dusky hair, But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful dawn.
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When his veering gait And every motion of his starry train Seem governed by a strain Of music, audible to him alone.
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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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A power is passing from the earth.
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For nature then to me was all in all.
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Far from the world I walk, and from all care.
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