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Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns.

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
Whose
Light
Suns
Dwelling
Settings
Setting
Sun

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Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.
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A power is passing from the earth.
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I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills When all at once I saw a crowd A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake beneath the trees Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
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The sightless Milton, with his hair Around his placid temples curled And Shakespeare at his side,-a freight, If clay could think and mind were weight, For him who bore the world!
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Hearing often-times the still, sad music of humanity, nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power to chasten and subdue.
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Knowledge and increase of enduring joy From the great Nature that exists in works Of mighty Poets.
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A Briton even in love should be A subject, not a slave!
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Great God! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn
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Two voices are there one is of the sea, One of the mountains: each a mighty Voice.
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Imagination is the means of deep insight and sympathy, the power to conceive and express images removed from normal objective reality.
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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.
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Delight and liberty, the simple creed of childhood.
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O dearer far than light and life are dear.
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Sweet childish days, that were as long, As twenty days are now.
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The sunshine is a glorious birth But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.
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But He is risen, a later star of dawn.
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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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For all things are less dreadful than they seem.
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