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The mysteries that cups of flowers infold And all the gorgeous sights which fairies do behold.
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
Gorgeous
Cups
Fairy
Flowers
Sight
Fairies
Flower
Sights
Mystery
Behold
Mysteries
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Yet sometimes, when the secret cup Of still and serious thought went round, It seemed as if he drank it up, He felt with spirit so profound.
William Wordsworth
Sweet is the lore which Nature brings Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things: We murder to dissect.
William Wordsworth
Burn all the statutes and their shelves: They stir us up against our kind And worse, against ourselves.
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Society became my glittering bride, And airy hopes my children.
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Poetry is the outcome of emotions recollected in tranquility.
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On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life, Musing is solitude
William Wordsworth
Love betters what is best
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What know we of the Blest above but that they sing, and that they love?
William Wordsworth
Milton, in his hand The thing became a trumpet
William Wordsworth
Sweet is the lore which Nature brings Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things We murder to dissect. Enough of Science and of Art Close up these barren leaves Come forth, and bring with you a heart That watches and receives.
William Wordsworth
I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, wherever nature led.
William Wordsworth
Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower, The periwinkle trailed its wreaths And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes.
William Wordsworth
There is One great society alone on earth: The noble living and the noble dead.
William Wordsworth
The daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.
William Wordsworth
Far from the world I walk, and from all care.
William Wordsworth
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
The gods approve The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul.
William Wordsworth
A simple child. That lightly draws its breath. And feels its life in every limb. What should it know of death?
William Wordsworth
One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can.
William Wordsworth
Nature never did betray the heart that loved her.
William Wordsworth
