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Chains tie us down by land and sea And wishes, vain as mine, may be All that is left to comfort thee.
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
Land
Ties
Wish
Chains
Left
Vain
May
Thee
Mines
Sea
Mine
Comfort
Wishes
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Everything is tedious when one does not read with the feeling of the Author.
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My apprehension comes in crowds, I dread the rustling of the grass, The very shadows of the clouds, Have power to shake me as they pass, I question things and do not find, one that will answer to my mind, And all the world appears unkind.
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[Mathematics] is an independent world created out of pure intelligence.
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A man he seems of cheerful yesterdays And confident tomorrows.
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We have within ourselves Enough to fill the present day with joy, And overspread the future years with hope.
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Open-mindedness is the harvest of a quiet eye.
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Meek Walton's heavenly memory.
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As generations come and go, Their arts, their customs, ebb and flow Fate, fortune, sweep strong powers away, And feeble, of themselves, decay.
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One in whom persuasion and belief Had ripened into faith, and faith become A passionate intuition.
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Knowledge and increase of enduring joy From the great Nature that exists in works Of mighty Poets.
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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting.
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One solace yet remains for us who came Into this world in days when story lacked Severe research, that in our hearts we know How, for exciting youth's heroic flame, Assent is power, belief the soul of fact.
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I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts a sense sublime of something far more deeply interfused, whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, and the round ocean, and the living air, and the blue sky, and in the mind of man.
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And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man.
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Meek Nature's evening comment on the shows That for oblivion take their daily birth From all the fuming vanities of earth.
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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.
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Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.
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The silence that is in the starry sky, / The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
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Turning, for them who pass, the common dust Of servile opportunity to gold.
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Faith is, necessary to explain anything, and to reconcile the foreknowledge of God with human evil.
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