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Rapt into still communion that transcends The imperfect offices of prayer and praise, His mind was a thanksgiving to the power That made him it was blessedness and love!
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
Office
Rapt
Prayer
Blessedness
Stills
Transcends
Power
Offices
Still
Thanksgiving
Made
Communion
Mind
Imperfect
Love
Praise
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Sweet childish days, that were as long, As twenty days are now.
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Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive But to be young was very heaven.
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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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A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard... Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.
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There is a luxury in self-dispraise And inward self-disparagement affords To meditative spleen a grateful feast.
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Of friends, however humble, scorn not one.
William Wordsworth
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 softest breeze to fairest flowers gives birth: Think not that Prudence dwells in dark abodes, She scans the future with the eye of gods.
William Wordsworth
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.
William Wordsworth
In heaven above, And earth below, they best can serve true gladness Who meet most feelingly the calls of sadness.
William Wordsworth
A tale in everything.
William Wordsworth
Since every mortal power of Coleridge Was frozen at its marvellous source, The rapt one, of the godlike forehead, The heaven-eyed creature sleeps in earth: And Lamb, the frolic and the gentle, Has vanished from his lonely hearth.
William Wordsworth
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.
William Wordsworth
How is it that you live, and what is it you do?
William Wordsworth
Sweet is the lore which Nature brings Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things: We murder to dissect.
William Wordsworth
Great God! I'd rather be a Pagan.
William Wordsworth
Every gift of noble origin Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath.
William Wordsworth
A brotherhood of venerable trees.
William Wordsworth
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.
William Wordsworth
Father! - to God himself we cannot give a holier name.
William Wordsworth
