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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!
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
Star
Daisies
Shadow
Shaped
Mountain
Smooth
Beauty
Stone
Stars
Thrown
Known
Naked
Self
Surface
Stones
Daisy
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Scorn not the sonnet. Critic, you have frowned, Mindless of its just honours with this key Shakespeare unlocked his heart.
William Wordsworth
Since thy return, through days and weeks Of hope that grew by stealth, How many wan and faded cheeks Have kindled into health! The Old, by thee revived, have said, 'Another year is ours' And wayworn Wanderers, poorly fed, Have smiled upon thy flowers.
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Stern daughter of the voice of God! O Duty! if that name thou love Who art a light to guide, a rod To check the erring and reprove.
William Wordsworth
The memory of the just survives in Heaven.
William Wordsworth
To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
William Wordsworth
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.
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
in the mind of man, A motion and a spirit, that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things.
William Wordsworth
Be mild, and cleave to gentle things, thy glory and thy happiness be there.
William Wordsworth
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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Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
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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.
William Wordsworth
There is creation in the eye.
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Ah, what a warning for a thoughtless man, Could field or grove, could any spot of earth, Show to his eye an image of the pangs Which it hath witnessed,-render back an echo Of the sad steps by which it hath been trod!
William Wordsworth
The Poet, gentle creature as he is, Hath, like the Lover, his unruly times His fits when he is neither sick nor well, Though no distress be near him but his own Unmanageable thoughts.
William Wordsworth
Of friends, however humble, scorn not one.
William Wordsworth
Of all that is most beauteous, imaged there In happier beauty more pellucid streams, An ampler ether, a diviner air, And fields invested with purpureal gleams.
William Wordsworth
Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit, and play with similes, Loose type of things through all degrees.
William Wordsworth
The sunshine is a glorious birth But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.
William Wordsworth
Brothers all In honour, as in one community, Scholars and gentlemen.
William Wordsworth
