Share
×
Inspirational Quotes
Authors
Professions
Topics
Tags
Quote
Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower.
William Wordsworth
Share
Change background
T
T
T
Change font
Original
TAGS & TOPICS
William Wordsworth
Age: 80 †
Born: 1770
Born: April 7
Died: 1850
Died: April 23
Lyricist
Poet
Cockermouth
Cumbria
Wordsworth
Flower
Splendour
Glory
Bereavement
Bring
Splendor
Though
Consolation
Hours
Sympathy
Past
Grass
Back
Grief
Nothing
Hour
Condolences
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Come forth into the light of things, let nature be your teacher.
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
With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things.
William Wordsworth
The mysteries that cups of flowers infold And all the gorgeous sights which fairies do behold.
William Wordsworth
Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!
William Wordsworth
Death is the quiet haven of us all.
William Wordsworth
How is it that you live, and what is it you do?
William Wordsworth
Dust as we are, the immortal spirit grows Like harmony in music there is a dark Inscrutable workmanship that reconciles Discordant elements, makes them cling together In one society.
William Wordsworth
My apprehension comes in crowds, I dread the rustling of the grass, The very shadows of the clouds, Have power to shake me as they pass, I question things and do not find, one that will answer to my mind, And all the world appears unkind.
William Wordsworth
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.
William Wordsworth
Faith is, necessary to explain anything, and to reconcile the foreknowledge of God with human evil.
William Wordsworth
What know we of the Blest above but that they sing, and that they love?
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
Bright gem instinct with music, vocal spark.
William Wordsworth
Small service is true service, while it lasts.
William Wordsworth
The budding rose above the rose full blown.
William Wordsworth
Books are the best type of the influence of the past.
William Wordsworth
The unconquerable pang of despised love.
William Wordsworth
On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life, Musing is solitude
William Wordsworth
The harvest of a quiet eye, That broods and sleeps on his own heart.
William Wordsworth
