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Wisdom sits with children round her knees.

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
Sits
Knees
Round
Rounds
Wisdom
Children

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While all the future, for thy purer soul, With sober certainties of love is blest.
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The thought of death sits easy on the man Who has been born and dies among the mountains.
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I'll teach my boy the sweetest things I'll teach him how the owlet sings.
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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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Shalt show us how divine a thing A woman may be made.
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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.
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Thou unassuming common-place of Nature, with that homely face.
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Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain That has been, and may be again.
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Tis not in battles that from youth we train The Governor who must be wise and good, And temper with the sternness of the brain Thoughts motherly, and meek as womanhood.
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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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To the solid ground Of nature trusts the Mind that builds for aye.
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Choice word and measured phrase above the reach Of ordinary men.
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Worse than idle is compassion if it ends in tears and sighs.
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Meek Nature's evening comment on the shows That for oblivion take their daily birth From all the fuming vanities of earth.
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Wisdom married to immortal verse.
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Me this uncharted freedom tires I feel the weight of chance desires, My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose that ever is the same.
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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
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These hoards of wealth you can unlock at will.
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Whether we be young or old,Our destiny, our being's heart and home,Is with infinitude, and only thereWith hope it is, hope that can never die,Effort and expectation, and desire,And something evermore about to be.
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I've watched you now a full half-hour Self-poised upon that yellow flower And, little Butterfly! Indeed I know not if you sleep or feed. How motionless! - not frozen seas More motionless! and then What joy awaits you, when the breeze Hath found you out among the trees, And calls you forth again!
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