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
Soul
Hope
Pride
Scope
Debarred
Self
Christian
Holy
Coast
Shipwrecked
Lost
Turn
Indifference
Forlorn
Others
Fire
Compared
Kindles
Stills
Within
Season
Abide
Earth
Lying
False
Fires
Still
Turns
Seasons
Apathy
May
Faith
Lies
Scorn
Unblest

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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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Be mild, and cleave to gentle things, thy glory and thy happiness be there.
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One in whom persuasion and belief Had ripened into faith, and faith become A passionate intuition.
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Miss not the occasion by the forelock take that subtle power, the never-halting time.
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Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep/ Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind.
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The first cuckoo's melancholy cry.
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O dearer far than light and life are dear.
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Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit, and play with similes, Loose type of things through all degrees.
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Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
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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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Where the statue stood Of Newton, with his prism and silent face, The marble index of a mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of thought alone.
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The mysteries that cups of flowers infold And all the gorgeous sights which fairies do behold.
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Therefore am I still a lover of the meadows and the woods, and mountains and of all that we behold from this green earth.
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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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Have I not reason to lament What man has made of man?
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Life is divided into three terms - that which was, which is, and which will be. Let us learn from the past to profit by the present, and from the present, to live better in the future.
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Of friends, however humble, scorn not one.
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