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Poetry is most just to its divine origin, when it administers the comforts and breathes the thoughts of religion.
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
Origin
Breathe
Comfort
Poetry
Thoughts
Divine
Administers
Religion
Breathes
Comforts
More quotes by William Wordsworth
in the mind of man, A motion and a spirit, that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things.
William Wordsworth
All men feel a habitual gratitude, and something of an honorable bigotry, for the objects which have long continued to please them.
William Wordsworth
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.
William Wordsworth
Give all thou canst high Heaven rejects the lore of nicely-caluculated less or more.
William Wordsworth
But thou that didst appear so fair To fond imagination, Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation.
William Wordsworth
True beauty dwells in deep retreats, Whose veil is unremoved Till heart with heart in concord beats, And the lover is beloved.
William Wordsworth
O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird, Or but a wandering voice?
William Wordsworth
Chains tie us down by land and sea And wishes, vain as mine, may be All that is left to comfort thee.
William Wordsworth
Take the sweet poetry of life away, and what remains behind?
William Wordsworth
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard... Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.
William Wordsworth
Burn all the statutes and their shelves: They stir us up against our kind And worse, against ourselves.
William Wordsworth
And often, glad no more, We wear a face of joy because We have been glad of yore.
William Wordsworth
I'll teach my boy the sweetest things I'll teach him how the owlet sings.
William Wordsworth
Not in Utopia, -- subterranean fields, --Or some secreted island, Heaven knows whereBut in the very world, which is the worldOf all of us, -- the place where in the endWe find our happiness, or not at all
William Wordsworth
Ten thousand saw I at a glance, tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
William Wordsworth
The softest breeze to fairest flowers gives birth: Think not that Prudence dwells in dark abodes, She scans the future with the eye of gods.
William Wordsworth
Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed Their snow-white blossoms on my head, With brightest sunshine round me spread Of spring's unclouded weather, In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard-seat! And birds and flowers once more to greet, My last year's friends together.
William Wordsworth
Books! tis a dull and endless strife: Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music! on my life, There's more of wisdom in it.
William Wordsworth
Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee! . . . . . . Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart: So didst thou travel on life's common way In cheerful godliness.
William Wordsworth
Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.
William Wordsworth
