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A tale in everything.

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
Tale
Tales
Everything

More quotes by William Wordsworth

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Up! up! my friend, and quit your books, Or surely you 'll grow double! Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks! Why all this toil and trouble?
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Shalt show us how divine a thing A woman may be made.
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But hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity.
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We live by admiration, hope and love.
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But who, if he be called upon to face Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined Great issues, good or bad for humankind, Is happy as a lover.
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Ah, what a warning for a thoughtless man, Could field or grove, could any spot of earth, Show to his eye an image of the pangs Which it hath witnessed,-render back an echo Of the sad steps by which it hath been trod!
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A perfect woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light
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Golf is a day spent in a round of strenuous idleness.
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For youthful faults ripe virtues shall atone.
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The mind that is wise mourns less for what age takes away than what it leaves behind.
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Then blame not those who, by the mightiest lever Known to the moral world, Imagination.
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What are fears but voices airy? Whispering harm where harm is not. And deluding the unwary Till the fatal bolt is shot!
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The intellectual power, through words and things, Went sounding on a dim and perilous way!
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And now I see with eye serene, The very pulse of the machine. A being breathing thoughtful breaths, A traveler between life and death.
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The thought of our past years in me doth breed perpetual benedictions.
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Stern daughter of the voice of God! O Duty! if that name thou love Who art a light to guide, a rod To check the erring and reprove.
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We Poets in our youth begin in gladness But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
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With battlements that on their restless fronts Bore stars.
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Happier of happy though I be, like them I cannot take possession of the sky, mount with a thoughtless impulse, and wheel there, one of a mighty multitude whose way and motion is a harmony and dance magnificent.
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A lawyer art thou? Draw not nigh! Go, carry to some fitter place The keenness of that practised eye, The hardness of that sallow face.
William Wordsworth