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To be young was very heaven!

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
Young
Youth
Heaven

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That mighty orb of song, The divine Milton.
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Science appears but what in truth she is, Not as our glory and our absolute boast, But as a succedaneum, and a prop To our infirmity.
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Rest and be thankful.
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If the time should ever come when what is now called Science, thus famliarised to men, shall be ready to put on, as it were, a form of flesh and blood, the Poet will lend his divine spirit to the aid the transfiguration, and will welcome the Being thus produced, as a dear and genuine inmate of the household of man.
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Wisdom sits with children round her knees.
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May books and nature be their early joy!
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I travelled among unknown men, In lands beyond the sea Nor England! did I know till then What love I bore to thee.
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For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.
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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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Milton, in his hand The thing became a trumpet
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I should dread to disfigure the beautiful ideal of the memories of illustrious persons with incongruous features, and to sully the imaginative purity of classical works with gross and trivial recollections.
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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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Rapt into still communion that transcends The imperfect offices of prayer and praise, His mind was a thanksgiving to the power That made him it was blessedness and love!
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And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love.
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[Mathematics] is an independent world created out of pure intelligence.
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The very flowers are sacred to the poor.
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On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life, Musing is solitude
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That kill the bloom before its time, And blanch, without the owner's crime, The most resplendent hair.
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Sweetest melodies.Are those that are by distance made more sweet.
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The soft blue sky did never melt Into his heart he never felt The witchery of the soft blue sky!
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