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Poetry has never brought me in enough money to buy shoestrings.

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
Brought
Poetry
Money
Enough
Never

More quotes by William Wordsworth

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Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade Of that which once was great is passed away.
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From the body of one guilty deed a thousand ghostly fears and haunting thoughts proceed.
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That blessed mood in which the burthen of the mystery, in which the heavy and the weary weight of all this unintelligible world is lightened.
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O joy! that in our embers Is something that doth live, That nature yet remembers What was so fugitive!
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Therefore am I still a lover of the meadows and the woods, and mountains and of all that we behold from this green earth.
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Poetry is most just to its divine origin, when it administers the comforts and breathes the thoughts of religion.
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The child is father of the man.
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Wisdom married to immortal verse.
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Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.
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Behold the Child among his new-born blisses A six years' Darling of a pigmy size! See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, With light upon him from his father's eyes! See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, Some fragment from his dream of human life, Shaped by himself with newly-learned art.
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One solace yet remains for us who came Into this world in days when story lacked Severe research, that in our hearts we know How, for exciting youth's heroic flame, Assent is power, belief the soul of fact.
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Of all that is most beauteous, imaged there In happier beauty more pellucid streams, An ampler ether, a diviner air, And fields invested with purpureal gleams.
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And through the heat of conflict keeps the law In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw.
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No motion has she now, no force she neither hears nor sees rolled around in earth's diurnal course, with rocks, and stones, and trees.
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Even thus last night, and two nights more I lay, And could not win thee, Sleep, by any stealth: So do not let me wear to-night away. Without thee what is all the morning's wealth? Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
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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
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But hushed be every thought that springs From out the bitterness of things.
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Sweetest melodies.Are those that are by distance made more sweet.
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Primroses, the Spring may love them Summer knows but little of them.
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We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, When such are wanted.
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