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Hope smiled when your nativity was cast, Children of Summer!

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
Children
Nativity
Smiled
Cast
Casts
Summer
Hope

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But thou that didst appear so fair To fond imagination, Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation.
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Provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke.
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The earth was all before me. With a heart Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty, I look about and should the chosen guide Be nothing better than a wandering cloud, I cannot miss my way.
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She gave me eyes, she gave me ears And humble cares, and delicate fears A heart, the fountain of sweet tears And love and thought and joy.
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Either still I find Some imperfection in the chosen theme, Or see of absolute accomplishment Much wanting, so much wanting, in myself, That I recoil and droop, and seek repose In listlessness from vain perplexity, Unprofitably travelling towards the grave.
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Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice The confidence of reason give, And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live!
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Faith is, necessary to explain anything, and to reconcile the foreknowledge of God with human evil.
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Therefore am I still a lover of the meadows and the woods, and mountains and of all that we behold from this green earth.
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Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.
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Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
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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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As thou these ashes, little brook, wilt bear Into the Avon, Avon to the tide Of Severn, Severn to the narrow seas, Into main ocean they, this deed accursed An emblem yields to friends and enemies How the bold teacher's doctrine, sanctified By truth, shall spread, throughout the world dispersed.
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Monastic brotherhood, upon rock Aerial.
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Sweetest melodies.Are those that are by distance made more sweet.
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One that would peep and botanize Upon his mother's grave.
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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.
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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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But who shall parcel out His intellect by geometric rules, Split like a province into round and square?
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True dignity abides with him alone Who, in the silent hour of inward thought, Can still suspect, and still revere himself, In lowliness of heart.
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