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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

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A multitude of causes unknown to former times are now acting with a combined force to blunt the discriminating powers of the mind, and unfitting it for all voluntary exertion to reduce it to a state of almost savage torpor.
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'Tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes!
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Provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke.
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The ocean is a mighty harmonist.
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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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Before us lay a painful road, And guidance have I sought in duteous love From Wisdom's heavenly Father. Hence hath flowed Patience, with trust that, whatsoe'er the way Each takes in this high matter, all may move Cheered with the prospect of a brighter day.
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Dust as we are, the immortal spirit grows Like harmony in music there is a dark Inscrutable workmanship that reconciles Discordant elements, makes them cling together In one society.
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I'm not talking about a show me other walls of this thing button, I mean a stumble button for wallbase.
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Sweet childish days, that were as long, As twenty days are now.
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We Poets in our youth begin in gladness But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
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The fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world Have hung upon the beatings of my heart.
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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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Choice word and measured phrase above the reach Of ordinary men.
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A soul so pitiably forlorn, If such do on this earth abide, May season apathy with scorn, May turn indifference to pride And still be not unblest- compared With him who grovels, self-debarred From all that lies within the scope Of holy faith and christian hope Or, shipwrecked, kindles on the coast False fires, that others may be lost.
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Wrongs unredressed, or insults unavenged.
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my brain Worked with a dim and undetermined sense Of unknown modes of being o'er my thoughts There hung a darkness, call it solitude Or blank desertion.
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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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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting.
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For nature then to me was all in all.
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The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, burn to the socket.
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