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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
Self
Surface
Stones
Daisy
Star
Daisies
Shadow
Shaped
Mountain
Smooth
Beauty
Stone
Stars
Thrown
Known
Naked
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Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge it is the impassioned expression which is in the countenance of all Science
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Poetry is the first and last of all knowledge - it is as immortal as the heart of man.
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The vision and the faculty divine Yet wanting the accomplishment of verse.
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That best portion of a man's life, his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.
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By all means sometimes be alone salute thyself see what thy soul doth wear dare to look in thy chest and tumble up and down what thou findest there.
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She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be But she is in her grave, and oh The difference to me!
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A brotherhood of venerable trees.
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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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Books are the best type of the influence of the past.
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The daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.
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Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretch'd in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
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Open-mindedness is the harvest of a quiet eye.
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Wisdom sits with children round her knees.
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The silence that is in the starry sky, / The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
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Burn all the statutes and their shelves: They stir us up against our kind And worse, against ourselves.
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Stop thinking for once in your life!
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Hearing often-times the still, sad music of humanity, nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power to chasten and subdue.
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Science appears but what in truth she is, Not as our glory and our absolute boast, But as a succedaneum, and a prop To our infirmity.
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The unconquerable pang of despised love.
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