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Wisdom and Spirit of the universe! Thou soul, that art the eternity of thought, And giv'st to forms and images a breath And everlasting motion.
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
Eternity
Wisdom
Everlasting
Universe
Motion
Spirit
Images
Art
Breath
Form
Breaths
Thought
Thou
Soul
Forms
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Because the good old rule Sufficeth them,-the simple plan, That they should take who have the power, And they should keep who can.
William Wordsworth
Let Nature be your teacher
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Departing summer hath assumed An aspect tenderly illumed, The gentlest look of spring That calls from yonder leafy shade Unfaded, yet prepared to fade, A timely carolling.
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... and we shall find A pleasure in the dimness of the stars.
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A deep distress has humanised my soul.
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Poetry is the outcome of emotions recollected in tranquility.
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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.
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But to a higher mark than song can reach, Rose this pure eloquence.
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We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.
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Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies, Let them live upon their praises.
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Brothers all In honour, as in one community, Scholars and gentlemen.
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Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
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Turning, for them who pass, the common dust Of servile opportunity to gold.
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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.
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I am already kindly disposed towards you. My friendship it is not in my power to give: this is a gift which no man can make, it is not in our own power: a sound and healthy friendship is the growth of time and circumstance, it will spring up and thrive like a wildflower when these favour, and when they do not, it is in vain to look for it.
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The world is too much with us late and soon, getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours.
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Death is the quiet haven of us all.
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The monumental pomp of age Was with this goodly personage A stature undepressed in size, Unbent, which rather seemed to rise In open victory o'er the weight Of seventy years, to loftier height.
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Hope smiled when your nativity was cast, Children of Summer!
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Books! tis a dull and endless strife: Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music! on my life, There's more of wisdom in it.
William Wordsworth