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the Mind of Man-- My haunt, and the main region of my song.
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
Mind
Men
Haunt
Thinking
Region
Humankind
Thoughtful
Regions
Main
Song
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Ah, what a warning for a thoughtless man, Could field or grove, could any spot of earth, Show to his eye an image of the pangs Which it hath witnessed,-render back an echo Of the sad steps by which it hath been trod!
William Wordsworth
All that we behold is full of blessings.
William Wordsworth
But who would force the soul tilts with a straw Against a champion cased in adamant
William Wordsworth
Nature never did betray the heart that loved her.
William Wordsworth
Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit, and play with similes, Loose type of things through all degrees.
William Wordsworth
One with more of soul in his face than words on his tongue.
William Wordsworth
But who shall parcel out His intellect by geometric rules, Split like a province into round and square?
William Wordsworth
Knowing that Nature never did betray the heart that loved her 'tis her privilege, through all the years of this our life, to lead from joy to joy.
William Wordsworth
The Eagle, he was lord above
William Wordsworth
The child is father of the man.
William Wordsworth
A soul so pitiably forlorn, If such do on this earth abide, May season apathy with scorn, May turn indifference to pride And still be not unblest- compared With him who grovels, self-debarred From all that lies within the scope Of holy faith and christian hope Or, shipwrecked, kindles on the coast False fires, that others may be lost.
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Books are yours, Within whose silent chambers treasure lies Preserved from age to age more precious far Than that accumulated store of gold And orient gems, which, for a day of need, The Sultan hides deep in ancestral tombs. These hoards of truth you can unlock at will.
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One in whom persuasion and belief Had ripened into faith, and faith become A passionate intuition.
William Wordsworth
Wild is the music of autumnal winds Amongst the faded woods.
William Wordsworth
Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.
William Wordsworth
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
William Wordsworth
Imagination is the means of deep insight and sympathy, the power to conceive and express images removed from normal objective reality.
William Wordsworth
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!
William Wordsworth
Heaven lies about us in our infancy.
William Wordsworth
The daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.
William Wordsworth
