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But to a higher mark than song can reach, Rose this pure eloquence.

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
Higher
Song
Eloquence
Rose
Mark
Reach
Pure

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I look for ghosts but none will force Their way to me. 'Tis falsely said That there was ever intercourse Between the living and the dead.
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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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When from our better selves we have too long been parted by the hurrying world, and droop. Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, how gracious, how benign is solitude.
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She was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight, A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament Her eyes as stars of twilight fair, Like twilights too her dusky hair, But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful dawn.
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Dreams, books, are each a world.
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When his veering gait And every motion of his starry train Seem governed by a strain Of music, audible to him alone.
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A deep distress has humanised my soul.
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It is the 1st mild day of March. Each minute sweeter than before... there is a blessing in the air.
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Faith is, necessary to explain anything, and to reconcile the foreknowledge of God with human evil.
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The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, That no philosophy can lift.
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Bright gem instinct with music, vocal spark.
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How is it that you live, and what is it you do?
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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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Since every mortal power of Coleridge Was frozen at its marvellous source, The rapt one, of the godlike forehead, The heaven-eyed creature sleeps in earth: And Lamb, the frolic and the gentle, Has vanished from his lonely hearth.
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One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can.
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The silence that is in the starry sky, / The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
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Blessings be with them, and eternal praise, Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares!- The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays.
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Provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke.
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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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Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
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