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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
Left
Vain
May
Thee
Mines
Sea
Mine
Comfort
Wishes
Land
Ties
Wish
Chains
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The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone
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Behold the Child among his new-born blisses A six years' Darling of a pigmy size! See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, With light upon him from his father's eyes! See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, Some fragment from his dream of human life, Shaped by himself with newly-learned art.
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The mysteries that cups of flowers infold And all the gorgeous sights which fairies do behold.
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Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee! . . . . . . Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart: So didst thou travel on life's common way In cheerful godliness.
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Meek Walton's heavenly memory.
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This solitary Tree! a living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay Of form and aspect too magnificent To be destroyed.
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A few strong instincts and a few plain rules.
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A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by One after one the sound of rain, and bees Murmuring the fall of rivers, winds and seas, Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky - I've thought of all by turns, and still I lie Sleepless.
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one daffodil is worth a thousand pleasures, then one is too few.
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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting.
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One impulse from a vernal wood
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Society became my glittering bride, And airy hopes my children.
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Of friends, however humble, scorn not one.
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Love betters what is best
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Up! up! my friend, and quit your books, Or surely you 'll grow double! Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks! Why all this toil and trouble?
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But trailing clouds of glory do we come, From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy!.
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Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
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Bright flower! whose home is everywhere Bold in maternal nature's care And all the long year through the heir Of joy or sorrow, Methinks that there abides in thee Some concord with humanity, Given to no other flower I see The forest through.
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Then blame not those who, by the mightiest lever Known to the moral world, Imagination.
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