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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
Poetry
Money
Enough
Never
Brought

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The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink I heard a voice it said Drink, pretty creature, drink'
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The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, An appetite a feeling and a love that had no need of a remoter charm by thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.
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Society became my glittering bride, And airy hopes my children.
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The wind, a sightless laborer, whistles at his task.
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We live by Admiration, Hope, and Love And, even as these are well and wisely fixed, In dignity of being we ascend.
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Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
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Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge it is the impassioned expression which is in the countenance of all Science
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In ourselves our safety must be sought. By our own right hand it must be wrought.
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Hope smiled when your nativity was cast, Children of Summer!
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Golf is a day spent in a round of strenuous idleness.
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Sad fancies do we then affect, In luxury of disrespect To our own prodigal excess Of too familiar happiness.
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Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies, Let them live upon their praises.
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But to a higher mark than song can reach, Rose this pure eloquence.
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Of friends, however humble, scorn not one.
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Oft in my way have I stood still, though but a casual passenger, so much I felt the awfulness of life.
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Wisdom married to immortal verse.
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The harvest of a quiet eye, That broods and sleeps on his own heart.
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