Quote

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

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William Wordsworth
Age: 80 †
Born: 1770
Born: April 7
Died: 1850
Died: April 23
Lyricist
Poet
Cockermouth
Cumbria
Wordsworth
Others
Fire
Compared
Kindles
Stills
Within
Season
Abide
Earth
Lying
False
Fires
Still
Turns
Seasons
Apathy
May
Faith
Lies
Scorn
Unblest
Soul
Hope
Pride
Scope
Debarred
Self
Christian
Holy
Coast
Shipwrecked
Lost
Turn
Indifference
Forlorn

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I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills When all at once I saw a crowd A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake beneath the trees Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
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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.
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And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love.
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Everything is tedious when one does not read with the feeling of the Author.
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Dreams, books, are each a world and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good: Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow.
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Brothers all In honour, as in one community, Scholars and gentlemen.
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These hoards of wealth you can unlock at will.
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A power is passing from the earth.
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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.
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... and we shall find A pleasure in the dimness of the stars.
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Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky! Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound? Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground?
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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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Shalt show us how divine a thing A woman may be made.
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Spires whose silent finger points to heaven.
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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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Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
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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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Ten thousand saw I at a glance, tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
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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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Let beeves and home-bred kine partake The sweets of Burn-mill meadow The swan on still St. Mary's Lake Float double, swan and shadow!
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