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Long as there's a sun that sets, Primroses will have their glory Long as there are violets, They will have a place in story: There's a flower that shall be mine, 'Tis the little Celandine.
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
Place
Sets
Stories
Mines
Littles
Mine
Little
Sun
Long
Flower
Glory
Shall
Violets
Story
Violet
More quotes by William Wordsworth
How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold.
William Wordsworth
In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay Tribute to ease and, of its joy secure, The heart luxuriates with indifferent things, Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones, And on the vacant air.
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We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.
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The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, An appetite a feeling and a love that had no need of a remoter charm by thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.
William Wordsworth
The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, burn to the socket.
William Wordsworth
There is a luxury in self-dispraise And inward self-disparagement affords To meditative spleen a grateful feast.
William Wordsworth
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting.
William Wordsworth
We murder to dissect.
William Wordsworth
If thou art beautiful, and youth and thought endue thee with all truth-be strong--be worthy of the grace of God.
William Wordsworth
O joy! that in our embers Is something that doth live, That nature yet remembers What was so fugitive!
William Wordsworth
How fast has brother followed brother, From sunshine to the sunless land!
William Wordsworth
That best portion of a man's life, his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.
William Wordsworth
Delight and liberty, the simple creed of childhood.
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O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird, Or but a wandering voice?
William Wordsworth
For oft, when on my couch I lie in vacant or in pensive mood they flash upon that inward eye which is the bliss of solitude
William Wordsworth
That blessed mood in which the burthen of the mystery, in which the heavy and the weary weight of all this unintelligible world is lightened.
William Wordsworth
Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower.
William Wordsworth
The Rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the Rose.
William Wordsworth
Those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realised, High instincts before which our mortal Nature Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised
William Wordsworth
the Mind of Man-- My haunt, and the main region of my song.
William Wordsworth
