Quote

Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And, even with something of a mother's mind, And no unworthy aim, The homely nurse doth all she can To make her foster child, her inmate man, Forget the glories he hath known And that imperial palace whence he came.

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
Men
Mother
Aim
Palaces
Inmates
Earth
Glory
Fills
Glories
Children
Came
Unworthy
Homely
Even
Pleasure
Doth
Imperial
Kind
Child
Yearning
Whence
Mind
Known
Nurse
Palace
Something
Forget
Pleasures
Foster
Inmate
Make
Natural
Hath
Lap
Yearnings

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Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky! Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound? Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground?
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And the most difficult of tasks to keep Heights which the soul is competent to gain.
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We live by Admiration, Hope, and Love And, even as these are well and wisely fixed, In dignity of being we ascend.
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That though the radiance which was once so bright be now forever taken from my sight. Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, glory in the flower. We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.
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Knowing that Nature never did betray the heart that loved her 'tis her privilege, through all the years of this our life, to lead from joy to joy.
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By all means sometimes be alone salute thyself see what thy soul doth wear dare to look in thy chest and tumble up and down what thou findest there.
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But how can he expect that others should Build for him, sow for him, and at his call Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all?
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All men feel a habitual gratitude, and something of an honorable bigotry, for the objects which have long continued to please them.
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Society became my glittering bride, And airy hopes my children.
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Turning, for them who pass, the common dust Of servile opportunity to gold.
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...one interior life in which all beings live with God, themselves are God, existing in the mighty whole, indistinguishable as the cloudless east is from the cloudless west, when all the hemisphere is one cerulean blue.
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Sweet is the lore which Nature brings Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things: We murder to dissect.
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But who is innocent? By grace divine, Not otherwise,O Nature! we are thine.
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Two voices are there one is of the sea, One of the mountains: each a mighty Voice.
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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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Stern daughter of the voice of God! O Duty! if that name thou love Who art a light to guide, a rod To check the erring and reprove.
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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
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The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.
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In heaven above, And earth below, they best can serve true gladness Who meet most feelingly the calls of sadness.
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Sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart.
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