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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
Bright was the summer's noon when quickening steps Followed each other till a dreary moor Was crossed, a bare ridge clomb, upon whose top Standing alone, as from a rampart's edge, I overlooked the bed of Windermere, Like a vast river, stretching in the sun.
William Wordsworth
Not in Utopia, -- subterranean fields, --Or some secreted island, Heaven knows whereBut in the very world, which is the worldOf all of us, -- the place where in the endWe find our happiness, or not at all
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A man he seems of cheerful yesterdays And confident tomorrows.
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And mighty poets in their misery dead.
William Wordsworth
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.
William Wordsworth
She seemed a thing that could not feel the touch of earthly years.
William Wordsworth
Strongest minds are often those whom the noisy world hears least.
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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting.
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Provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke.
William Wordsworth
Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.
William Wordsworth
Delivered from the galling yoke of time.
William Wordsworth
A famous man is Robin Hood, The English ballad-singer's joy.
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Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.
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His love was like the liberal air, embracing all, to cheer and bless.
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Turning, for them who pass, the common dust Of servile opportunity to gold.
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Sweet Mercy! to the gates of heaven This minstrel lead, his sins forgiven The rueful conflict, the heart riven With vain endeavour, And memory of Earth's bitter leaven Effaced forever.
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The sunshine is a glorious birth But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.
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Small service is true service, while it lasts.
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Great God! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn
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Burn all the statutes and their shelves: They stir us up against our kind And worse, against ourselves.
William Wordsworth
