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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
Brothers all In honour, as in one community, Scholars and gentlemen.
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Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.
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With battlements that on their restless fronts Bore stars.
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Turning, for them who pass, the common dust Of servile opportunity to gold.
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With little here to do or see Of things that in the great world be, Sweet Daisy! oft I talk to thee For thou art worthy, Thou unassuming commonplace Of Nature, with that homely face, And yet with something of a grace Which love makes for thee!
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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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A cheerful life is what the Muses love. A soaring spirit is their prime delight.
William Wordsworth
I am already kindly disposed towards you. My friendship it is not in my power to give: this is a gift which no man can make, it is not in our own power: a sound and healthy friendship is the growth of time and circumstance, it will spring up and thrive like a wildflower when these favour, and when they do not, it is in vain to look for it.
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The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.
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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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The Rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the Rose.
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The child is father of the man.
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As high as we have mounted in delight, In our dejection do we sink as low.
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On a fair prospect some have looked, And felt, as I have heard them say, As if the moving time had been A thing as steadfast as the scene On which they gazed themselves away.
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Father! - to God himself we cannot give a holier name.
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The silence that is in the starry sky, / The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
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Rest and be thankful.
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A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
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We live by admiration, hope and love.
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The earth was all before me. With a heart Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty, I look about and should the chosen guide Be nothing better than a wandering cloud, I cannot miss my way.
William Wordsworth
